


Fy Ngwraig

by GuestPlease



Series: Follow the Spokes of the Wheel [4]
Category: Disenchantment (TV 2018)
Genre: Bean is really bad at feelings, Bean is somehow a role model for not one but TWO sixteen year olds, Bean's going through kind of a rough patch with her friends right now, Bean's got Issues, Bechdel Test Pass, Cuddling, ESPECIALLY the canon ones, Exploration of historical (noble)women's power, F/M, Guess who gets a lot of gratuituous Google Translate Welsh, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Pendergast cannot lie, Pendergast just wants a fucking vacation, Pendergast's family, Politics, Romance, Season 3? What Season 3?, Secret Marriage, Surprise Bean gets a shiny new family of in laws who will love her properly, There's going to be a WEDDING, Thomas continues to be Thomas, all of them - Freeform, all the ladies? bi, also known as I add a lot of lady OCs and you can't take them away from me!, bed sharing, eh at least the women anyway, even the canon ones, it gives him headaches, mostly because they've been kidnapped by the devil, set before the Electric Princess because I am very much not getting into that, strangely enough despite her appearance in most of my other beandergast fics Magnhild isn't here, there's going to be a coup later shhh, this took a weird turn from fluff and found family to political drama but we're here now I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 121,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuestPlease/pseuds/GuestPlease
Summary: Fy Ngwraig: welsh for 'my wife'.Pendergast wanted a week off to go to his cousin's wedding.Somehowhe got roped into bringing the princess along. But this can be professional, right?Right?Bean, somehow managed to accidentally join Pendergast. In fairness, she did think he was going on a cool secret mission. But hey, at least he's not being as much of a dick as usual. Stupid hot Pendergast.
Relationships: Bean | Tiabeanie & Elfo & Luci (Disenchantment), Bean | Tiabeanie/Pendergast (Disenchantment), Elfo/Luci (Disenchantment), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Follow the Spokes of the Wheel [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551175
Comments: 200
Kudos: 49





	1. Hey how much education does she actually have?

It was a slow day in Dreamland.

The latest adventure the princess and her tiny entourage had gone on had already died down. Not that Sir Pendergast really knew what it was—something about a troll in the forest maybe? It wasn’t his purview, at least.

He was, however, on guard duty when they finally dragged themselves back to the castle, still smoking slightly. For once, they didn’t smell of alcohol or overwhelmingly of Dreamland Ditchweed. Weird.  
“Are you three alright?” Pendergast asked.  
The princess scoffed. “Like you care.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “It is _kind of_ my job to, you know, make sure you don’t _die_.”

She scoffed. “I can handle myself.”  
The eyebrow stayed up as he gave her a once over. “I can see that.”  
It did not come across as sarcastic as it had sounded in his head. In fact, it came across as painfully sincere, and upon realizing this, he flushed.

She either didn’t notice her effect on him, or didn’t care. “Ha, strong words coming from you, Pendergast.”  
He did not look at her, and he did not look at the cat. The cat _knew things_. Therefore, he was looking at the elf, who shrugged.

So instead, Pendergast crossed his arms. “What? It’s true.”  
The princess crossed her arms as well. “Weird. What, are you going to let me into the council chambers now?”  
Oh. It was about _that_. “I don’t know why you’re so intent on upending the status quo.”  
“’Cause it _sucks_.” The princess snapped.

“Ah, yes, I forgot, you’re the champion of the people. Perhaps you should let them choose their own champion?” Pendergast snorted.  
“What does _that_ mean?”  
“It _means_ that you’re unqualified to be in the council chambers, because I have no idea what you would contribute. You’re not going to take over the kingdom if your father dies—though God knows someone should be preparing Derek. You’re not in charge of the military, and your knowledge of the town is anecdotal.”

She bristled at that. “Excuse me? I’m actually interacting with people a lot more than you and everyone else in this castle!”  
“You. Are. The. Princess.” He didn’t know why he had to spell it out for her like this. “You’ve never known hunger, and you’ve never lived life constantly on edge of falling into despair. You don’t have hungry children to keep safe. You don’t answer to _anyone_. You’ve never known poverty. Your _cat_ eats better than the townsfolk, and I’ve never seen him actually catch anything. You drink with these people, and you may be friends, but you can’t speak for them anymore than I can.”

“Surprisingly well put, Comrade.” The cat snarked.  
“Remember that time my dad kicked me out?” The princess pointed out.  
Pendergast rolled his eye. “Ah, yes, the time you refused to behave and he cut you off for a _day_. And then, instead of relegating any official inquiries to _me_ , you went into the woods and destroyed any evidence.”  
“Official inquiries hadn’t _done_ anything.” The princess snapped.

“No, _I_ hadn’t done anything because it hadn’t ended up on my desk. I do hope you’d at least _try_ to think I would do my job to the best of my ability, Princess.” Pendergast snapped. And then he remembered himself. “…sorry, that wasn’t my place.”  
“No, it wasn’t.” The princess snapped.

“I… think you kind of just proved his point.” The elf admitted. “About not being able to speak for the people, I mean.”  
“Whose side are you on?” The princess huffed at him. “He’s obviously just trying to come up with more ways to keep me out of stuff because I’m a woman and he’s an idiot!”  
Pendergast bristled at that. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sit around all day thinking about you, Princess.”

“Aw, really? And here I thought you too would make _such_ a cute couple.” The cat laughed.  
Pendergast flushed again, and turned his gaze to the cobblestones. The cat _knew_ things—how could he have forgotten?  
“Not now, Luci.” The princess snapped. “I haven’t eaten all day, and I don’t want you to put me off my appetite.”  
Ouch.

Of course Pendergast let them past. He then patiently waited until his shift was over, and retreated to his room in the barracks. He stripped off his armor, then turned to his desk. The paperwork for the day wasn’t especially large—the princess had obviously been otherwise occupied, and chasing after her was a big part of his job. Vaguely, he could hear Zog and Bean shouting at each other from the castle proper, and grimaced.

Paperwork was quickly finished, but there was still the matter of correspondence. Two letters had the same familiar seal—a griffon surrounded by vines—and he put those to the side for later. Of his work letters, there was a general correspondence with the man in charge of Bentwood’s armies, and the man in charge of Dankmire’s. Since they were _supposed_ to be joined in marriage, he had begun writing to the commander of Bentwood’s armies before… the incident. Even now, it was expected that Dreamland and Bentwood would come to each other’s aid if need be. It was a similar situation with Dankmire, though unlike Sir Corian of Bentwood, it was less… cordial. More efficient.

Sir Corian was writing partially because their correspondence had made them friends, of sorts. (Pendergast had admittedly been a bit disappointed that the old knight hadn’t come to the wedding, but… it was probably for the best that it had been handled entirely by Dreamland (and Merkimer). Probably.) That meant his letter was after General Ahn of Dankmire.

General Ahn was writing specifically about whether Dreamland would continue to keep the demilitarized zone _demilitarized_ , now that Oona and Zog had split up. Pendergast wrote back that, as far as he knew, Dreamland had no intention of restarting the war. A war would only hurt Derek when he became king—and that was something neither side wanted. That was the only reason why General Ahn had not ordered an attack after that mission to Dankmire no one would tell him about. When he had tried to bring it up in a letter, General Ahn’s reply had been short. ‘Do not bring up the white-haired drunkard ever again if you want peace to be maintained between our nations.’

Reply finished, Pendergast blew on the ink, sanded his letter, and eventually sealed and addressed it. It was not the official king’s seal, but it was still a castle symbol. It was the only seal he ever used.  
Sir Corian was writing partially to check in on Merkimer, and partially to discuss a potential build-up of troops in the Forest. Sir Corian had personally trained both Guysbert and Merkimer and… had similar opinions on the princess to General Ahn.

Pendergast scanned through the letter twice. What Sir Corian was suggesting was that he’d have soldiers stationed in the forest to ward off the _creatures_. Apparently they’d been getting bolder. Pendergast liked Corian, really, but he was also well aware that Corian was a wily old man who felt personally wronged by Dreamland. Mostly the princess. God, when had Pendergast become a _diplomat_?

‘Dear Sir Corian,

It is interesting that you have mentioned the forest creatures. We have found on our side of the border in the Forest that they are growing more reticent to enter our territory with the emptying of Elfwood. Of course, if you need help, we would be happy to have our soldiers escort yours. A small complement of each should be able to work together to methodically eradicate any trouble you’re having.

Your soldiers will not be allowed in Dreamland. 

As for Merkimer, he remains as fine as he can. He seems more chipper than usual lately, no doubt because the weather is warming. As per your instructions, I have relayed both your affection and his mother’s. He was grateful, and told me to tell you that he’s doing well. As an afterthought, he mentioned something about a sweater sewn for him, which I also said I would pass along. If possible, please find a design that he can take off and on himself. I know he is my better, but I have better things to do with my time than taking a sweater on and off of him. Unfortunately, his social circle is somewhat lacking—the peasants know better than to eat him, but knowing I’ll take a sword to them is hard when they also know their children are starving. I have taken all measures I can to ensure his safety—which mostly means ensuring that people can eat. I do not have many resources at my disposal, but I have done what I can. I cannot wait for proper spring.

I know that Bentwood is wealthier than Dreamland. I know that we are men of action, with hardened hearts against the world. I do not write these next lines as a sign of weakness—I consider you a friend, and if you attempt to use this against me, it will not end well. I am asking as a younger man to a respected elder. How do you deal with hungry faces? How do you follow your king when he turns you into a debt collector? How far do my oaths go? Does it get better?

Sincerely,

Sir Pendergast.’

Sanded, dried, sealed, and addressed as well. His work was finally done for the day, and it was time to relax. He reached for the letter with the neater handwriting. He loved his sister, but it was not her strong point.

It was, in fact, a wedding invitation from his cousin. David was a relatively quiet boy with darker hair than Pendergast and his siblings. He was about seventeen now, slim and gangly. Somehow, David had gotten engaged—not surprising, he was the heir of the family despite being younger than both Pendergast and his brother. Pendergast set it aside, and opened his sister’s letter. They had written back and forth to each other ever since Pendergast had left for court.

‘Dear Penny,

Granny’s in a snit again. She says my stitching has to be _nice_ and _proper_. I have told her that it doesn’t matter if it’s nice and proper, my dresses look fine even if my embroidery doesn’t. Granny then said that if I couldn’t embroider, and I couldn’t sing, and I couldn’t dance, and I couldn’t play instruments that no nobleman would want me as a wife. I told her I don’t want to marry any of the noblemen we know. They’re either all old, or all related to us, or married already. Or a dreadful combination of all three—Uncle’s a nobleman, isn’t he?

Granny then said that if I was such an ungrateful chit, I could marry a swineherd for all she cares. I told her that I actually quite liked pork. Granny has since ordered that I am to be served nothing but pork until I behave. It is apparently causing a flurry in the kitchens. I expect she’ll win. She always does, after all. Mum says she just wants the best for all of us, and for us to be happy. (Mum sends her best, by the way. She says to dress warm, and make sure you eat enough. She’s gone now—she was hovering as I wrote that. Sorry.)

Thomas is fine, though he’s getting drunk all the time. It makes Mum upset, but she doesn’t say anything. Uncle does. He complains loudly about why can’t Thomas be better than Dad (fair) and be more like you (unfair) especially since you left and he no longer has to feed you. This seems to be Uncle’s main point, since Caer Griffiths doesn’t have anymore favor with the king since you left. Granny says we don’t have any less though, so it’s obviously not a problem. Uncle then sulked about ‘ungrateful nephews’ not giving him a place at court. From what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound good anyway.

You should come home. You sound miserable there. I know you sound miserable _every_ winter there, but Mum misses you. And you sound lonely every time you write. Besides, we both know there are only a few things keeping you there; your vows, the fact that you’ve decided the king is your new dad now, and the princess. I can practically _hear_ you sharply inhale from all the way over there. Look, I’m not telling anyone anything. _Anything_. As far as they all know, you barely ever see the royal family because the princess is off in some fancy tower. Probably embroidering much better than me, with golden hair. I don’t know what regular princesses do.

My point is, she’ll be fine if you come home. You’re not singlehandedly keeping people from killing her. I miss you, and Thomas probably does as well. I haven’t really asked. You can come home and be a knight here. Or at least come and visit. Dad’s dead, he can’t hurt us anymore.

You know I come back to these letters several times over a week, instead of writing a reply in one blast like you do. You probably already know this already, but David’s getting married. She’s some pretty thing from right across the border—Alice, or something like that. David’s smitten with her. When I told Granny—she’s getting old, so I act as her spy sometimes instead of her just _knowing_ everything herself—she snorted a bit to herself and said ‘it begins again’. She said she just hoped this Alice girl was as strong as Mum, or the conversation would get very dull. She also said Auntie Hannah has the personality of a wet rag, and if Uncle picked a similar woman for his son, she’ll be cross. She said not to tell Uncle that (her wrath is a surprise) but she said nothing about you. She also said it’s a good thing I’ll marry out, since I’m the most headstrong woman she’s ever met, but I know she doesn’t mean it. I also didn’t mention your princess, since she probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. Granny sometimes laments that ‘clearly my misbehavior (and Thomas’) comes from our other grandmother being god-knows-what, and the manners being bred clean out of us’, but that’s only when she’s _very_ angry. Still, she seems to think being noble means you’re actually _noble_. She’s a bit like you like that. Believing in justice and honor and that men like Uncle don’t scrabble and grab at power.

Do you still believe that, or has court trained it out of you? I hope it hasn’t. I hope you’re still my big brother who would tell me stories when I get scared. Who stood up to Dad, and Thomas, and Uncle when they were unkind. I hope you’re the knight you wanted to be. Anyway, come home for the wedding, even if it’s just for a bit! Letters are fine and all, but we miss you. Maybe I’ll stop bothering you to come home properly if you do. No promises though.

Love from,  
Blodeuwedd.’

Pendergast finished reading, and glanced towards the castle. It had gone quiet now, but that didn’t mean that the problems between the princess and the king were over. Wouldn’t they fall apart without him? Without everyone in place, making sure everything worked properly? On the other hand, most of his life was work. He hadn’t seen his family in five years. He hadn’t gone back for his father’s funeral. He hadn’t gone back when he’d lost the eye. Maybe it was time for a bit of a vacation.


	2. The Cat Knows Things

Pendergast waited until the afternoon to broach the matter with the king. This was mostly because his morning was spent patrolling the forest, and then upping the forest patrols. Perhaps Corian wouldn’t do anything. Perhaps. Still, it was better to be safe. Well… more specifically, he had a pretty good idea that Corian wouldn’t want to provoke actual war. He also wouldn’t want to do anything that would put Merkimer in danger, and a bunch of panicking people would be… worrying.

If Pendergast had to guess, he’d say that Corian would test the waters with a small force, since Pendergast had firmly quashed the idea of a large, elite force near Dreamland. Corian couldn’t try to intimidate them into handing over the princess. Bentwood wasn’t famed for assassins, but Corian’s anger didn’t seem to abate. That was fine. Pendergast understood why he was angry, after all. Pendergast would just have to stay ahead of him so that everything would work out fine.

Finally, he was able to walk into the throne room, confident that the king would be there, and listen to him.  
He immediately got the king’s attention. “Gast? What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing, I was just wondering… my cousin’s wedding is coming up, and I would like dispensation to go to it.”

That was when the princess entered, followed by the elf and the cat, as always. She wasn’t in a mood though, and she didn’t seem to have anything else to do, so she just sat down in her chair. Pendergast briefly wondered where the cat and elf were going to sit. He then turned his attention back to the king.

“How long would ya be gone?” Zog asked.  
“Wait, where’s Pendergast going?” The princess broke in.

“I may not even _be_ going.” Pendergast pointed out. “It’s up to his majesty’s discretion.”  
The princess watched him. “Is this because of yesterday?”  
Pendergast wrinkled his nose at her. Did she think him a coward? “No.”  
“What’d you say to him yesterday?” Zog demanded.

“Nothing!” The princess replied. “He started it!”  
“You react weird to compliments at the best of times anyway.” The elf said.  
The princess grimaced.  
“Don’t put him in the same boat with you.” The cat pointed out. “He’s actually taller than her. That seems like her type.”

“What.” Zog said flatly.  
“I have no idea what they’re talking about.” Pendergast quickly said, because he truly didn’t. It didn’t sound like the cat was talking about _his_ feelings for _her_. Nevertheless, the princess shot him a half-grateful, half-wary look. “As for your earlier question, I should be back within a week, counting travel times if I leave soon.”  
“Is Pendergast going on a secret mission? I want to come!” The princess said quickly.  
“Wait, no—” Pendergast tried to say, because him showing up with a girl for a wedding was going to cause _misunderstandings_.

“Actually, you know what? This might be a good idea. A week’a peace.” Zog sighed happily. “Okay, ‘Gast? You can go ta yer cousin’s weddin’, butcha gotta take Beanie.”  
Pendergast blinked, then looked at the princess. She wasn’t throwing a fit, she was just watching him expectantly.  
“I do need the vacation…” Pendergast said slowly.

“It’s not gonna be much of a vacation if yer watchin’ Beanie.” Zog snorted.  
True. He would just be surrounded by people who made him nervous while he did it. Fine. He could do that. What trouble could she get her—okay, there was a lot of trouble she could get into. Everyone was still watching him. He sighed. “I suggest you pack, princess. We leave tomorrow.”

She hopped off of her seat, and followed Pendergast out of the room. “So… where are we going?”  
“Caer Griffiths.” Pendergast sighed. “Where I grew up.”  
“Is everyone there like you?”  
“No one is like me, Princess.” Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “I have no doubt you’ll like some of them though. My sister thinks of you as an inspiration.”

She lit up. “Wait, really?”  
Pendergast shrugged. “I don’t lie. While we’re on the subject though, news travels exceptionally slowly to Caer Griffiths. Blodeuwedd is the only one who knows anything about you, and I doubt she’s going to tell anyone.”  
The princess’ smile didn’t diminish. “That sounds great! You were talking yesterday about how everyone treats me differently since they know who I am.”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that you’ll get the experience you want. They’re a bunch of minor nobles, for one. For another, Granny can be a bit… snobbish. Among others.”  
She shook her head. “That’s fine. Um, what should I pack?”

“A nice dress—not too nice if we’re going to keep up this pointless charade. But you’ll need something to wear for the wedding.”  
“Who’s getting married, anyway?”  
“My cousin, the heir.”

“How old is he?”  
“Seventeen.”  
The princess squinted at him. “You’re not seventeen. You’re old.”  
“How old do you think I am?” Pendergast asked, aghast.

“I don’t know, a bajillion?” The princess teased.  
Pendergast crossed his arms. “Try twenty two.”  
“What? I thought you were older. You certainly act like it.”  
“Nope, just three years older than you. I suppose I’m just more mature.” Pendergast teased back.

She looked surprised for a minute, then laughed. “Hey, you even kind of have a sense of humor. Maybe you do need a vacation really badly—come back relaxed.”  
Pendergast snorted. “That has as great a chance of happening as us getting married.”  
She didn’t laugh, she just kind of… flushed.  
“What the _hell_ are you two talking about?” The cat popped up. “Is this all a plan to lure Bean back to your family home and marry her, you sick fuck?”

“What? No!” Pendergast said quickly. “I was about to tell her that there will probably be _assumptions_ —”  
“Didn’t sound like you were talking about _assumptions_.” The cat sassed him, clambering onto Bean’s shoulder. “Though it seemed like you were pretty close to talking about Bean’s ass.”  
“I would _never_ be so crude as to…” Pendergast buried his face in his hands. “Let’s start over. I think you were about to say that I should inherit because I’m older than my cousin?”

“Well, yeah.” The princess said.  
Pendergast crossed his arms, settling into himself. Law was easy. This sort of thing—discussing administrative measures and the status quo, this is what he’d been trained for his whole life, even if it never came to anything. “But you see, my uncle is the older brother, and my father the younger.”  
“But your cousin’s just a kid.” The princess argued. “That’s a lot to put on a kid.”

Pendergast watched her for a minute. “…David’s more or less a man now. Princess, how much do you actually know about kingdom procedure?”  
She bristled. “I know enough!”  
“Oh, now you’ve done it.” The cat snickered.

Pendergast had once said that Zog’s mistake had been educating the princess. Now he could see that was… untrue. At least in some respects. He had no doubt she knew basic Latin—if she didn’t, he’d be _very_ surprised—but it seemed like a lot had been left by the wayside.  
Right. Dagmar should have been in charge of her education.  
No wonder she had these _ideas_. She didn’t know any better.

“What?” The princess snapped. “You haven’t said anything in a while.”  
“When we get back, I’m taking you to the library.” Pendergast finally said. “You need to know things—if you ever have a son before your brother has heirs, and anything happens to him, you would presumably become regent for your child. Obviously, in this scenario, your father has died of old age, anything else would be treasonous for me to say… why are you staring at me?”

“’Cause you’re a giant nerd.” The cat said.  
The princess didn’t stop staring. “You… want to teach me stuff?”  
Pendergast flushed. “It sounds _obscene_ when you say it like that.”  
The cat promptly fell off of the princess’ shoulder laughing.

Pendergast ignored him. “I know it’s just the basics in a lot of things, and I don’t really know much about a woman’s education, so I’ll just be telling you things _I_ know, but it should be better than nothing—” He was rambling, and he didn’t know how to stop. Until the princess suddenly hugged him.  
“Maybe you’re not such an asshole.” She muttered.  
Pendergast slowly raised a hand to hug her back. The cat watched, smirking. “Okay, lovebirds, shouldn’t you go pack?”

The princess ran off, cat in tow—presumably the elf would meet up with them, wherever he had disappeared to. Pendergast proceeded to return to his next shift. Upon sorting through his paperwork at the end of the day, he stood up from his desk, cracked his back, and proceeded to the stables.

“Hello, Carrots.” He said, making his voice soft as he spoke to the massive black warhorse. The Friesian was technically his since he had first come to Dreamland. It included their time in the Crusades together—and quite honestly, Pendergast counted the ornery stallion as a friend. Carrots looked at him, then turned back to his dinner. That was fine by Pendergast. He _could_ take care of his horse if need be, but Carrots preferred being pampered than anything Pendergast could give him if they weren’t away from the royal stables. Pendergast still gently petted the horse, then took a currycomb and brushed him down. It was soothing, in its own way.

“Who would be good for a beginner to ride?” Pendergast wondered aloud.  
Carrots flicked his tail. Pendergast moved the currycomb and scratched behind Carrots’ ear with his hand. Carrots leaned into the touch.  
“Most horses are specifically tied to certain people, like you.” Pendergast mused. “And it’s not like we have a bunch of carriage horses in rotation. …which one did Prince Derek learn to ride on…?” That had been before Pendergast’s time, but if he had to guess, it had been a pony. There weren’t any left now though.

He eventually left Carrots’ stall, and walked purposefully—not wandered and _certainly_ not strolled—to the area where the non-military horses were kept. There were not too many—and certainly not all of them were good horses for a beginner. No, there was really only one good option—Ribbons. Her mother was a carriage horse, and her father was the king’s prized Turkoman horse. There was only one problem. Spring was coming.

The last thing Pendergast needed was for Ribbons to get into estrus, especially around Carrots. They had already had one foal together, they wouldn’t necessarily reject each other. Pendergast drummed his fingers on her gate. “If I take you to Caer Griffiths, and let the princess ride you, can you _promise_ to behave?”  
Ribbons was a horse, and could not reply. She continued to eat her oats in peace.  
“You will _not_ cause trouble for me _or_ the princess.” Pendergast hissed at the horse.

Pendergast glanced back at Carrots. Presumably he could control his own horse better… hopefully. He returned to Carrots’ stall. “If you cause problems for me, I _swear_ I will geld you myself when we get back here. And you know what kind of problems I mean! You should be a gentleman around Ribbons!”  
“And so a wicked knight who trains himself and his son according to evil counsels makes beasts of himself and his son, and makes a knight of his horse.” A new voice interrupted.

Pendergast stiffened. “Hello, cat. I was unaware that you read ‘The Book of the Order of Chivalry’.”  
The cat slunk up onto the fence separating Carrots from the king’s prized Turkoman, Excelsior. “Apparently you’ve been reading it too much if you think you can boss your horse into being a _gentleman_ around a lady.” The cat snickered.  
Pendergast crossed his arms. “I assume you and the elf are coming with us. Tell me, do _you_ want to be delayed because they decided to get randy?”

“Better them than you.” The cat laughed.  
“Quiet, cat!” Pendergast hissed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Mm… I think I do. You’re _very_ interested in the idea of courtly love—the knight chasing after the woman he can never have—but it goes beyond that. Bean’s not that kind of girl. No, you actually like her, don’t you?” The cat bared his little fangs in a crude imitation of a smile.

Pendergast looked away, flushing. “I… you shouldn’t say such things.”  
“Do you like her, yes or no?”  
“Of course I like her, it’s my duty to—”  
“No no no. Do you want to _fuck_ her, Pendergast?”

Pendergast flushed. “That would be _deeply_ improper!”  
“So yes, and you’ve thought about it in _great_ detail, and you’ve decided that no, it’s never going to happen because she hates you.” The cat sounded bored.  
“I-you—you’re—where do you get these ideas?!” Pendergast spluttered.  
“It’s written all over your face.” The cat cackled. “Especially when you’re watching her when you think no one’s watching _you_.”

“I… what does this solve, anyway?” Pendergast demanded. “As you said, she hates me.”  
The cat leapt down. “No, I said you’ve decided that she hates you. By the way, Elfo and I aren’t coming. It’s just you, and her for a week. Try not to pop her cherry, will you?”  
And then he left, still laughing. Pendergast stood there, frozen.

Oh God, there wasn’t going to be a chaperone for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joke's on you, Luci. It's already gone.
> 
> 'The Book of the Order of Chivalry' is a real book written in the 1200s as a handbook for knights.


	3. The Start of the Gratuituous Google Translate Welsh

Pendergast had checked and double-checked the remaining knights to make sure they wouldn’t fall apart in his absence. Odval had agreed to hold over any correspondence for him, and to try and reply to priority messages. The guards agreed to keep patrolling that damn forest.   
And, a few hours before he was actually going to try and find someone to wake her up, the princess ran into the courtyard, her red cloak around her shoulders, the elf and cat trailing behind her.

“Don’t leave without me!” She said, slowing to a stop in front of Pendergast, who had been making sure Carrots’ hooves were clean.   
He blinked at her. “I… that was an option?”   
She huffed, and shoved a leather satchel at him. “Luci told me I overslept.”   
“I didn’t know you were that excited to come with me, Princess.”

She lit up. “Of course! I’ve never seen where you’re from, and you never talk about your family. Besides, last time I went to a wedding that actually happened, it was Dad and Oona’s, and it sucked. I want to see a wedding where people are happy to get married.”   
Pendergast stared at her. “…you do realize your cat and elf aren’t coming…? It’s just you and me.”   
“What?” The elf demanded.

The princess turned to look at the cat, who shrugged. “I have a business to run, and Elfo would kill the vibe. How ‘bout you and Sir Pendergast go and have _fun_?”   
Pendergast flushed at the cat’s tone, and clearly the princess was just as worried about the cat’s impropriety, since she did the same. Pendergast cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too much.” Pendergast continued. “Caer Griffiths isn’t… my family isn’t… I don’t know if this is going to be as fun as you’re expecting. Please don’t get your hopes up, princess.”   
She was still blushing. “I… it’s still going to be interesting, even if I have to make it interesting.”   
Pendergast’s eye widened. “It’s not my place to… far be it for me to tell you what to do, but please don’t scare my grandmother. She’s quite elderly. Please don’t scandalize her either, I might want to go back again someday.”

“Just your grandmother?” The princess teased.   
Pendergast finally slid her satchel into a waiting saddlebag. “Just my grandmother. I doubt you’ll really be able to put anyone else off. …maybe Auntie Hannah, but my sister does that well enough already just by existing, so it’s understandable if you annoy her.”   
“Right, the one who thinks I’m an inspiration?” The princess asked.

“Mm-hmm—Blodeuwedd, she’s about a year or two older than your brother. I also have an older brother, but…” Pendergast shrugged, then hefted the saddlebag onto his shoulder. “I’m going to go saddle up your horse. Can you keep Carrots from getting… restless… for me please?”   
This would hopefully keep them both occupied for a bit. Carrots was perfectly willing to let himself be pampered by stableboys, but there was only one person he would accept holding his reins. However, the princess was the most stubborn person Pendergast had ever met. An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.

Thankfully, his task went quickly. Ribbons was fine with the saddle, the bridle, and the bags. She got a bit of carrot for her trouble, since she was such a good girl. (Pendergast had carrot pieces on him to bribe his own horse to behave. Ribbons did not need to be bribed, but she deserved a reward.) He led her out of the stable into the courtyard. God preserve him, but hopefully Zog wouldn’t mind that the princess had been given a saddle she could actually _ride_ in. Besides, she was already wearing breeches.

Prepared for the worst, he entered the courtyard to see… the princess scratching under Carrots’ chin and crooning something about being such a handsome horse at him. (It was _stupid_ and _irrational_ to be jealous of a horse.) The unmovable object seemed to have won. “You don’t want to rat me out to Pendergast about that time I stole you from the stables, do you?” The princess purred.

First of all, it would make Pendergast’s life ten times easier if he never heard her use that tone of voice again, and immediately forgot it. Second… “And when was this?” He asked.   
The princess jumped, then turned back to him. “Hey, that was fast.”   
He raised an eyebrow.   
The princess sighed. “A couple years ago. I… you were sick that week, and it was raining, and so I thought if I took him out no one would notice…”

“How fast did he buck you off?” Pendergast asked conversationally.   
She glared at him. “He didn’t. I fell off. I… hadn’t done the saddle properly.”   
Pendergast couldn’t help himself. He laughed. He could tell the glare was intensifying.   
“Don’t—it’s not your fault.” He said, when he composed himself again. “How’d you get him back to the stable?”

“Led him by the reins once I caught him.”   
“Was he insufferable?” Pendergast asked, fondly giving Carrots his favorite snack as a reward for not biting the princess.   
“Not really.” The princess scratched him behind the ears.   
“Well, don’t worry about it. He always has trouble controlling himself around a pretty girl.” Pendergast pointed out. He glanced at Ribbons when he said this, but the princess was looking at him with wide eyes.

Before Pendergast could defend himself, her gaze shifted to somewhere over Carrots’ shoulder. Carrots, meanwhile, snuffled at Ribbons, so Pendergast planted himself firmly between the two horses.   
“Behave.” He ordered Carrots. “Os nad i mi, yna er mwyn y dywysoges.” Carrots could no more speak Welsh than he could English, but at least Pendergast could say he warned him, without letting the princess know what he was saying. Oh, this next day of riding would be fun if he was keeping the only other human around for miles out of the conversation.

“What was that? What that a spell?” She asked him as he cupped his hands for her to step into and mount Ribbons.   
“No, that was Welsh.”   
“I didn’t know you speak Welsh.” She said that in the same tone as _I didn’t know you were interesting_ , and Pendergast quickly quashed that thought. That was a bad thought that would take root in his mind and bear no fruit.

“Well, you’d better get used to it—Caer Griffiths is close to the border between Dreamland and Wales. Most of my family speaks both English and Welsh.” His father and grandfather weren’t really saying much these days, being dead and all.   
“Would you teach me that too?” The princess asked.   
He smiled at her. “Efallai.”

Then he mounted up onto Carrots, and they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Os nad i mi, yna er mwyn y dywysoges.-- If not for me, than for the sake of the princess.   
> Efallai-- Maybe. 
> 
> I have decided that Welsh is Pendergast's mother tongue, but it is not mine. If you actually know Welsh and somehow stumble across this and want to help, thank you in advance!


	4. Have you met my wife, Princess Tiabeanie Mariabeanie de la Rochambeau Grunkwitz?

“Are you okay?” Pendergast asked.   
“Of course!” The princess said quickly. “Just… you know… been sitting here for a while.”   
“Saddle-sore.” Pendergast nodded slowly.  
“Wh-no! I can do anything you can do!”

Pendergast rolled his eye. “It’s not a matter of whether or not you… it’s not a sign of weakness if you need to rest.”   
“It’s _fine_.”   
Pendergast sighed. “I’m sure.”

She made a face at him, and he made a face back.   
“…So, what’s the Welsh word for ‘knight’?” The princess asked.   
“Marchog.” Pendergast replied, smiling slightly.   
She repeated the word quietly to herself.

Pendergast looked up at the sky. “It’s getting a bit late, we might have to make camp soon.”   
“I mean, if _you_ want to.” The princess said.   
“Well, in that case, we could ride through the night.” Pendergast said.   
“…you can be a real bastard, you know that.”

“How dare you. My parents were married.” Pendergast laughed.   
“What ho, strangers!” Someone called.   
The princess and Pendergast both turned their heads to see a wagon approaching.   
“Did you just call me a—” The princess began. Pendergast shot her a Look, and gently nudged her to not finish that sentence.

“I am but a humble cloth merchant, headed to the capital for the spring.” The man continued blithely.   
“That’s nice.” Pendergast said, clearly wanting him to stop talking.   
“Where are you headed?” The man asked.   
“Uh… actually, yeah, where are we headed?” Bean asked Pendergast.   
“Caer Griffiths, I already—look, I don’t see how that’s your business.” He said this last part to the cloth merchant.

The cloth merchant beamed at him. “Just making conversation! Conversation leads to sales, you know! And my cloth is very fine, sir, fine enough for the princess herself.”   
“Fine enough for the princess, huh?” Bean said, trying to hide a smile.   
“Oh, yes!”

“Well, we’re no one of consequence.” Not a lie. Pendergast was specifically speaking of the merchant and himself in this instance. “We don’t really need your cloth.”   
“Ah, but a sale would line my pockets—doesn’t matter if from a peasant or a king!”   
“You’re really driving this home, aren’t you?” Bean asked the merchant.

“I like money.” The merchant replied. He glanced them over, and Pendergast stiffened. Knowing more would lead to questions which would lead to danger.   
“Unfortunately, we have business elsewhere.” Pendergast said.   
“What kind of business?”   
“None of yours.”

“It’s a bit odd, seeing two young people your age traveling alone.” The merchant eyed Bean’s leggings.   
“We’re—” Bean began.   
“We’re married. Just married. And traveling home to see my family after the wedding.” Pendergast snapped. And there was the lie. He could feel it beginning to build behind his eyes.   
“At Caer Griffiths?”   
“Closest landmark.” Pendergast ground out. He kept his eye on the merchant, even though he could feel Bean staring at him. Inwardly, he begged her to play along.

“Yep.” She finally said. “Spent all our money on the wedding, so we can’t buy anything. Plus we’re headed the opposite direction, and we need to make camp soon.”   
“We can make camp together.” The merchant suggested.   
“No, I want to make more time. You understand.” Pendergast said. “Fy ngwraig, let’s go.” He didn’t know this merchant. He could be bilingual.

They managed to make it quite a distance past the cart before Bean said, “Hey, what the hell was that?”   
“What?” Pendergast said. When had he started thinking of her as _Bean?_   
“The married thing?”   
He felt like he was going to throw up. His head _pounded_ with every word. He held up a finger. “We’re not married.”   
“Uh, yeah? Hey, are you okay?”

Why did it still _hurt_? He could feel it building—more _truth_ that he apparently had to say. But what? “But I…” Oh no no no. It was going to come out regardless, and God knows Pendergast couldn’t control what he was going to say. He could only control the language. “Ond rydw i eisiau bod yn briod â chi.” He covered his mouth as though he could push the words back in. No. _No_. She was the princess. He was-he was the second son of a second son of a very _minor_ house. No.

“Hey, Pendergast? What the literal fuck?” Bean asked.   
He removed his hand. “I… where do you want me to start?”   
“The married thing?” She glanced at him, clearly worried. “Are you okay? You seemed kind of… possessed?”

“I… okay, the married thing.” Pendergast straightened in the saddle, then began looking for a place to camp so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “I… don’t have my armor. We don’t know that man, and we aren’t safe right now.”   
“He’s just a guy.”   
“You don’t know what he’s willing to do for money, princess. He… I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” Pendergast blurted out.

Bean crinkled her nose. “Pendergast, he was like, my dad’s age. Ew.”   
“ _Exactly_. And nothing is safer for a woman than being married, even if it’s a lie. It explained what we were doing out here, and it designated me as your protector. Normal women don’t have bodyguards, princess.”   
“I’m not normal.” She huffed.

“No, you’re not.” Pendergast said quietly. “You’re… you’re more. You’re extraordinary.”   
She glanced at him, then quickly looked away, focusing on her hands. “Don’t tease me, asshole. …and you never said if you’re okay.”   
Pendergast finally spotted a good site; a clearing next to a stream. He dismounted Carrots, and led his horse over to a branch where he could be tied up with access to water and to grass.

Bean copied him, wincing as she slid off of Ribbons. “Ow… Hey, you’re not getting away from me that easy.”   
Pendergast held his hands open. “I have no intention of going anywhere, princess. …Except to get firewood.”   
“Can I come?” Bean rubbed her lower back and Pendergast glanced away. “If you want?”   
“That’s not an answer.” She laughed.

Pendergast crossed his arms. “You’re the princess. It’s up to you.”   
She followed him. He gathered twigs and branches, and showed her where to get dry, accessible wood. “So, you want an explanation so badly that you followed me into the woods alone, princess?” Pendergast asked drily.   
Bean crinkled her nose at him. “You’d never hurt me— _stop dodging the fucking question, Pendergast_!”   
“Is that an order?”

“Yes! You’re the most stubborn, annoying man I’ve ever met—and I’ve met a lot of annoying men.” Bean huffed.   
Pendergast laughed. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone worse than me, princess. …okay, so I can’t lie.”   
“What?”   
“I mean, I can. Kind of. But if I do, I get awful headaches, and I basically… vomit the truth out.” Pendergast began heading back to their makeshift camp.

“Why?” Bean asked, jogging after him.   
Pendergast glanced over his shoulder at her and shrugged. “No idea. My siblings have the same problem. I’ve never asked my mother if she has it, but I know my father’s family don’t.”   
“Huh. That’s weird.” Bean said. “So, how do you get through life?”

“Half-truths, dodging answers, and answering with questions mostly.” Pendergast replied. “The rare times I have to lie, I… well, I try to hold it back as long as possible.”   
“What’s your record?”   
“Forty-five minutes.” Pendergast glanced at her again, shooting her a fond smile. “My siblings and I timed ourselves.”

“You’ve never mentioned them before this.”   
“You never asked.”   
“So what was that thing you said in Welsh?”   
Pendergast flushed, before beginning to ramble. “I… that’s… you don’t need to know that. If you needed to know, I would have said it in English.”

Bean seemed to accept this. “Do you talk shit about people in Welsh?”   
“No one to speak it with, princess.”   
“You could talk shit with me, after you teach me.” She said brightly.

He laughed. “Of course.”   
“So you should tell me what you said.” Bean continued.   
“It really doesn’t matter.” Pendergast said quickly. “Do you know how to light a fire with flint?”   
“Uh… yeah.” Bean said. “How hard can it be?”

Pendergast nodded, and went to the horses to get the sleeping bags, dried food, and to cover them in blankets. Bean was still trying to get the fire going when he returned to her side. He put the sleeping bags and food down, and slowly moved behind her.   
“Come on, you stupid…!” She growled.   
He gently placed his hands on top of hers, and guided them to make sparks.

The fire flared and crackled, and cast shadows on her face in a way that almost suggested she was blushing. Thankfully, Pendergast knew better. …That was when he realized he was still holding her hands, and leaning close to her.

“I… it was the angle.” Pendergast said quickly, pulling back. “You just needed to adjust slightly.”   
“Yeah.” Bean said, sounding slightly… taken aback? Disgusted? Pendergast couldn’t place the emotion. She turned away from the fire to face him. “You have nice hands.” She blurted out, then immediately covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“So do you.” Pendergast said. “Soft, I mean, no callouses? I mean I just felt the outside but they’re nice and—”   
“Pendergast.”   
“Right. Sorry, princess.”   
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and looked up at him with those big blue eyes. “I don’t mind. Just… you’re always acting like you know everything.”

Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “Can I tell you something, princess?”   
“Bean. Call me Bean.”   
“I… okay. I don’t always know what I’m doing. …well, okay, sometimes more than that. The last captain of the knights was… not helpful.” Pendergast waved his hands to demonstrate this. “I know what I’m doing when it’s Turbish and Mertz, but I… things are never as easy as ‘The Book of the Order of Chivalry’ makes it sound. I’m flying blind most of the time, but I can’t seem _weak_. So, I listen to your father and Odval a lot. And chime in, I guess? But I have to stick to my words and sound _confident_ about it, or…” Pendergast shrugged.

Bean visibly relaxed. “So you’re just a dork who pretends he knows what he’s doing.”   
Pendergast snorted. “A blunt way of putting it, but yes.”   
“If it helps, I had no idea. I just wing stuff all the time, and own up to it. You seemed like a _real_ adult though.”   
“We’re both adults, princess.”   
She punched his shoulder gently. “Bean. And you know what I mean. Like you knew what you were doing.”

“Honestly? I don’t think the real adults know either.” Pendergast said pensively. “Maybe they’re just better at hiding it.”   
“Maybe. …so, this is who you are off-script?”   
Pendergast narrowed his eye at her. “It’s not a script, prin—Bean.”   
She grinned at him. Pendergast was okay with dying now, he’d seen her smile. He’d _made_ her smile.

“Yeah? Sounds kind of like a script you write yourself.” She moved so that she was next to him, and laid her head on his shoulder.   
He jolted. “Bean?”   
“Yeah?”   
“Why are you…?”   
“Because you look like you need some kinda human contact. And I’m tired, and I want to stay warm.” This was punctuated by a yawn.

“We have sleeping bags, Bean.”   
“Mm…” She nestled her head so that it was right up against his neck. “You’re comfy… and you’re not going to tell me to piss off, are you?”   
“It would… no. I’m not.” Pendergast admitted. He could smell her hair from there. Okay, _now_ he could die happy. “It would be more comfortable to go to sleep lying down though. In a sleeping bag.”

“Pen,” and here it was a long-drawn out whine, “I haven’t gotten to cuddle with anybody in a long time. Not a human, anyway, and my mom doesn’t count. Please, be nice to me?”   
“You’re going to get neck cramps to match your leg cramps.”   
“Don’t care.”   
Right, she was stubborn at the best of times, let alone when she was half-asleep and clinging to human contact that he had _stupidly_ allowed her. Here she was, an innocent princess, and he was having _thoughts_ that she would have been disgusted to know about. “If you promise to lie down, you can still use me as a pillow.” There. There was no king for him to use as a way for her to do the right thing. There was no way he could out-stubborn her. And truth be told, he didn’t _want_ to be that person with her right now. He wanted to make her smile again.

Her head came up—nearly colliding with his, and if _that_ didn’t make the Traitorous Thing in His Pants quiet down, he didn’t know what would. The Traitorous _Thing_ had clearly forgotten last time he’d bonked heads with the princess. She fixed her eyes on his. “Really?”   
“Hand to God.” Pendergast said, raising his hand as proof.   
“Dork.” She effectively tackled him, then laid her head on his chest.   
“Your dork, princess.”

She leaned up, and flicked him on the nose. “ _Bean_. You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know I’m the princess.”   
“I thought you were planning on that?” Pendergast asked as she laid her head back down.   
Without properly realizing, he began to run a hand through her hair. She snuggled closer. “Mm… don’t stop… yeah… I guess…”   
“You sound tired, Bean.” Pendergast teased.   
“Mm…” Was the only reply he got. Pendergast yawned, listening to her breathing and the crackling of the fire. Sleep would claim him soon—odd word, claim. He really only belonged… to… her…

And he was asleep as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fy ngwraig; my wife (and a title drop)   
> Ond rydw i eisiau bod yn briod â chi. : But I want to be married to you


	5. Can you believe I've only had him call her tempting in one other fic?

They reached Caer Griffiths around noon the next day. It was a stone fortress with people swarming around it, short and squat unlike the royal castle. This was a castle specifically designed as a defensive point in long-term warfare, as a river ran behind it. It was a part of Dreamland, not a last resort defense like the main castle. There was a massive forest to the left, and open fields to the right—or what would be fields soon. For now, it was bleak, the mud beginning to churn and be trampled under the footsteps of horses and men alike, approaching the castle for the wedding.

Bean loved it. “What’s that smell?”  
“That would be the absence of urine.” Pendergast remarked drily.  
Bean laughed. “No, seriously?”  
He paused. “…wood smoke, rain…” Another pause. “Juniper, underneath it all. Our trees always seed early, just like our apples.”

“You can tell all that?” Bean asked.  
He shot her a small smile. “I _did_ live here for years, Bean.”  
“And you have a good sense of smell.”  
“Well, I have to have something to make up for the eye.”

And that was when they reached the castle proper. Pendergast slid off of Carrots, and led the two horses to the stable. Unfortunately, Bean more or less tripped on one of the stirrups, and plummeted forwards—straight into Pendergast’s arms, their noses nearly touching. Instinctively, she’d grabbed for him as well—so now her arm was curled around his neck. For a brief moment, she leaned forward, expecting him to meet her halfway and kiss her.  
“Move-move your leg.” He said quietly.  
“What?”

“Pull it out of the stirrup, and I’ll set you down.” He said, finally breaking eye contact with her and looking away. That cute blush was crawling up his face again. Why did he keep blushing? …and how far down did it go?  
“Oh, right.” She gingerly moved her leg out of the stirrup, and he adjusted her, putting her in a bridal carry. “You can put me down now, Pen.”

“Once we’re out of the stable? You might have hurt your ankle.” He tightened his grip for a minute, before relaxing. She laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re such a sap, Pendergast.”  
“It’s my job to keep you safe, prin—”  
“ _Bean_.”  
“I’m getting better.” He said defensively, carrying her out of the stables. “If you’re going to be bratty, I’m not going to check your ankle.”

“Good, it feels fine.” She raised her leg as proof.  
The blush returned. “Excuse me for wanting to check. Why aren’t you wriggling out of my arms, like you usually do whenever I touch you?”  
She made a face at him. “Not when you’re this gentle with me.”  
“Sometimes you don’t deserve gentle.” Pendergast said huskily.

Bean felt her breath hitch—and thankfully was saved from a response by someone screaming, “Pendergast!”  
They both looked up to see a girl with strawberry blonde, curly hair barreling towards them.  
“Birdy?” Pendergast said, right before the girl stopped short. Pendergast slowly put Bean down.

Birdy’s eyes flicked between his eye and his eyepatch. “When did this happen?!”  
“When did what—”  
“Peidiwch â chwarae'n fud! Your _eye_!” Birdy threw her hands in the air.  
Pendergast gently raised a hand to his eyepatch. “Oh. That. Um… years? The princess would have been about your age now…?”  
Bean elbowed him in the side.

“Hi, I’m Bean.” She said, to defuse the situation. And then, she had the brilliant idea to try and get rid of the tension the way she usually did. “Do you want some alcohol?” She pulled her flask out of her boot and shook it slightly.  
Birdy stared at her. “That—you’re—"  
Pendergast plucked the flask out of Bean’s hand. “Absolutely not, you’re not giving my baby sister alcohol.”

“If I did the math right, she’s about sixteen. That’s when _I_ started drinking.” Bean sassed. “Give me back my flask!”  
“And I could not have stopped you from that, but I can stop her.” Pendergast snapped.  
“It’s fine, I don’t even want any.” Birdy said quickly.  
“You sure? It’s _quality_ hooch, I stocked up before we left.” Bean jumped to grab the flask, and Pendergast let her have it.

“No, I’m good. We’ve already got Thomas.” Birdy said. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”  
“Speaking of Thomas, where is he?” Pendergast asked, briefly ducking into the stable to retrieve their saddlebags.  
“Who’s Thomas?” Bean asked.  
“Our older brother. He’s… out near Dad’s grave.” Birdy fiddled with her dress, eyes on the ground. “I think Thomas killed him.”  
“Blodeuwedd, that is a _very_ serious accusation.” Pendergast snapped.

“Wait, you’re the sister that thinks I’m cool!” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd nodded. “I’m his _only_ sister. You avoided marriage so _neatly_ , and… I’m scared. David’s fiancée is my age, which means they think it’s fine for me to get married…”  
“You’re only sixteen though.” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes. “So? I’m so scared that they’ll marry me off to some lord who’s old enough to be my grandfather with a bunch of screaming children that aren’t mine.”

“Blodeuwedd, Thomas and I will never let them do that. So _please_ don’t follow your line of thought and kill whoever you marry.” Pendergast broke in.  
Bean elbowed him. “Hey! He was an _accident_.”  
“Please do not try to lure your fiancé to mermaid infested waters to be eaten.” Pendergast continued drily, shooting Bean a half-smile.

“Wh—you knew about that?!”  
“Not actually blind.” Pendergast pointed out. “Anyway, Birdy, don’t kill your husband if you don’t like him. Dyna bwrpas brodyr hŷn. Now, room?”  
“What’d you say?” Bean asked him as Blodeuwedd led them up into the castle.

“It’s better that you don’t know. Plausible deniability.” Pendergast said softly.  
“…would you have killed Guysbert for me?”  
Pendergast paused for so long that Bean wasn’t sure if he’d heard the question. “If he was a threat to you. If he’d… _hurt_ you. Yes. I told you before, my job is to protect you.”  
“You probably would have started a war.”  
“Then I assume my pay would be docked. Of course, you’d have to actually come talk to me about your feelings, which, as established, you don’t do.” Pendergast shifted the saddlebags as he said this.

“Oh yeah? Then who was I cuddled up to last night?” Bean demanded.  
Blodeuwedd suddenly turned sharply.  
“Birdy? That’s not the way to my room.” Pendergast said.  
“Yes it is! Follow!” Blodeuwedd waved her hand, obviously trying to hide a smile. She bounced on the ball of her feet expectantly.

“I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I _think_ I remember where my room is.” Pendergast said.  
Blodeuwedd reached her destination, and threw open a door. It wasn’t a particularly large room, but it was large enough for the main point; a double bed.  
Pendergast immediately flushed and glared at his sister. “Birdy…” He growled warningly.

Blodeuwedd stepped into the room, causing Bean and Pen to follow. “We’re short on space, dear brother. Surely you don’t want the _princess_ to have to bunk up with a scullery maid, or worse, someone who might take advantage of her.”  
“Fine, I’ll sleep in the stable.”  
“Wait, sorry, how do you know I’m the princess?” Bean broke in.

Blodeuwedd grinned. “Oh, didn’t Penny mention? He and I write back and forth often. He mentions you a lot.”  
That blush wasn’t going anywhere fast.  
“A lot, huh?” Bean teased.

“You make my life more interesting than it has any right to be.” Pendergast muttered, looking at the floor.  
Blodeuwedd clapped her hands together. “Aw, that’s so _sweet_! I mean, I would have thought that the loss of your eye would be something pretty interesting, but…” Here she shrugged.  
“Hey, can you… _not_ tell everyone I’m the princess? I’m kinda trying to be incognito.” Bean said.

“We don’t want to take attention away from David and his bride.” Pendergast said.  
“Well, you will if you sleep in the stables.” Blodeuwedd said slyly. “Imagine, the prodigal son’s return, and he can’t even get a bed. What _will_ everyone say?”  
“Fine, I’ll stay.” Pendergast said, dropping the saddlebags on the floor.

Blodeuwedd hugged him, then danced out of the room. “I’m going to tell everyone you’re back! Take the time you need to freshen up now, or rest, or whatever.” With that, she was gone.  
“What wicked child.” Pendergast sighed. “Help me find a blanket?”

“Why?” Bean asked.  
“So I can set up a bed for myself on the floor before I want to go to sleep.” Pendergast pointed out.  
“Or…” Bean stepped closer. “You can sleep in the same bed as me, and we can cuddle again. And you can _not_ sleep on the ground for a week straight.”  
“That-that would be improper.” Pendergast stuttered.

“I mean, it doesn’t _have_ to be.” Bean pointed out. “I’m sure you don’t want to fuck me anyway, right?”  
His remaining eye was wide, and that cute blush was _definitely_ back. “I… princess… _Bean_ … your reputation…”  
“Is fucked if I cuddle with you or not? Everyone in this castle’s gonna think you’re in the bed anyway. You’re just going to make yourself uncomfortable.”

He slowly raised a hand, cupping her face. “You are so very _tempting_ , Tiabeanie…”  
She leaned into it, savoring the touch. Her guess was that the poor guy needed a few hugs as well, and that was why he was so willing to go along with this. She had… a kind of selfish reason, on top of craving human touch.

She liked him. At least, she liked him being open and vulnerable and a _person_. And when he was being not-a-dick, she could admit that yeah, his butt was kind of nice, and his arms felt _really_ strong (and she kind of wanted to see just how strong he was…) and toned. More toned than he had any right to be. Fuck it—he was cute. But he was probably over that little crush he’d had on her before the stone incident even happened. He was just teasing her, and so she was teasing him right back. It was all platonic. Supposedly, anyway.  
So, she’d keep on being a little selfish until he went back to being an asshole.

“Tempting, how?” She leaned forward. Maybe he’d kiss her this time.  
He looked away. “…tempting me with a soft bed kept warm by someone other than me.”  
She grinned. “Aw, don’t say that. You’re pretty warm, Pen.” She hadn’t felt cozier than between him and the fire the previous night.  
“You’re right, touching you is like being thrown in the harbor.” Pendergast smiled at her.

She put her hand on his, locking him in place between her hand and her cheek.  
He laughed. “I don’t exactly _mind_ , Tiabeanie.”  
“Good, because you’re the only source of warmth I’ve had all winter.”  
His eye slid back to her, though he wasn’t looking her in the eye. With a jolt, she realized he was looking at her mouth. _Finally_.

She dropped her hand in anticipation, and he curled a finger around one of her stray locks of hair. “Well, I’m glad to hear I don’t have any competition to _warm_ you.” There was that husky quality to his voice again, like when he said that sometimes she didn’t deserve _gentle_. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine.  
She licked her lips in anticipation. A small corner of her mind noticed he was still watching her mouth, and that his breath had hitched slightly.  
“Princess… Tiabeanie…” He murmured. “May I—”  
And that was when Blodeuwedd slammed the door open. “Granny wants to see you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peidiwch â chwarae'n fud!-- Don't play dumb!  
> Dyna bwrpas brodyr hŷn. -- That's what older brothers are for. 
> 
> Pendergast: Your dad can't _fire_ me. He can kill me, but I have tenure.
> 
> I admittedly stole the joke about 'that smell is the absence of urine' from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Everything else though is Lauren-original.


	6. April Fools Pendergast is Rhoswen's second favorite grandchild

Pendergast and Bean practically jumped apart.  
“Am I interrupting something?” Blodeuwedd asked sweetly.  
“Diawl bach.” Pendergast growled at her, crossing his arms.  
Blodeuwedd made a face at him, before turning to Bean with a smile. “Granny wants to see you too. She basically runs this castle.”

Bean shot a look at Pendergast. “ _She’s_ in charge, huh?”  
“She is an honored elder, and has had several children.” Pendergast pointed out. “A mother can always control her children, and grandchildren, unlike a maiden—”  
“You are _so_ full of shit!” Bean scoffed.  
“Oh, our older brother is even worse.” Blodeuwedd said. “Penny at least tries to be a true knight about it. You know, ‘maidens must be protected and all that’. It was cute when we were little, and he’d pretend to rescue me and then give me a piggyback ride to safety.”

“Aw, rescue you from what?” Bean asked. She didn’t catch the look that the siblings shared very quickly.  
“Thomas would always be the evil knight. The problem was that I wasn’t a very good damsel, I kept wandering out of the pillow fort.” Blodeuwedd laughed.  
“I guess you always wanted to be a good knight, huh?” Bean asked Pendergast.  
“I’d like to think I’ve succeeded. …but, yes. Knights protected the innocent and downtrodden and they always won. They were special. They were good. And if a knight protected someone, then they couldn’t be hurt anymore.” This last part was much quieter than the rest. “In the stories, at least.”

“Yna pam na ddaethoch chi yn ôl?” Blodeuwedd muttered. “Ac achub ni?”  
Pendergast flinched. “Real life isn’t like the stories, Birdy. …I’m here now.”  
“After he’s dead and buried! After the danger’s gone!” Blodeuwedd hissed, wiping at her eyes. “…sorry, you shouldn’t have to see that, Bean. So, tell me, has my brother been exaggerating about your adventures?”

“My adventures in general, or…?”  
“The Quest for the Eternity Pendant?” Blodeuwedd said, almost shy. “You’re not-you’re not a damsel.”  
“Oh, yeah.” Bean scratched the back of her neck. “Sorry I kind of… left you there.”  
“I was more worried about what I’d tell your father than about myself.” Pendergast said. “Though I suppose that was also worrying about myself…”

“What happened?” Blodeuwedd said.  
“I told you what happened.” Pendergast replied.  
“You told me the boring parts. Where did you find it? How?” Blodeuwedd pressed Bean.

Unfortunately, that was also when they reached the outside of a spiral staircase. Blodeuwedd, of course, went first.  
“I’m sorry about your friend.” Pendergast finally said, following Bean up.  
“What? Why are you bringing that up now? Elfo’s fine.”  
“…right, still don’t know how you _fixed_ that, but whatever. The natural continuation of the quest for the Eternity Pendant was the siege of Elfwood which was… not my finest hour.”

“You beetled.” Bean snickered.  
“Oh, God, you saw that?”  
“And heard you say it.”  
He gave her a small smile. “Like I said, not my finest hour. But I was referring to what happened to your friend.”  
“Were you the one to…?”  
“No, my arrow hit the tree behind your head.”

“…you shot at me.”  
“If it helps, I was aiming for one of the elves on the battlement. I wasn’t aiming for you.”  
“You _shot_ at me.” Bean huffed, glaring down at him.  
“I’m _trying_ to apologize!” Pendergast said. “…besides, I never would have… I’d rather cut out my remaining eye than hurt you.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Blodeuwedd called from above.  
“It wasn’t a joke!” Pendergast called back.  
“Don’t even flirt about that!”  
“It wasn’t a flirt.” Bean said, catching up with Blodeuwedd outside the door. “I think I’d know if he was flirting with me.”

“Aw, your first fight as a couple.” Blodeuwedd said, as Pendergast joined them.  
“This wasn’t our first fight.” Bean scoffed.  
“We’re not a couple.” Pendergast said at the same time.  
Blodeuwedd raised an eyebrow, and Bean and Pendergast looked at each other.

Blodeuwedd knocked twice on the door.  
“Dewch i mewn.”  
Blodeuwedd waved Pendergast and Bean in, then entered and shut the door behind them.

A short woman with hair whitened from age, tied back in a severe bun, was sitting at a desk writing something down. There were various piles of paper around her, as well as several shelves full of scrolls, folders, and books. The woman looked up briefly, and Bean caught a glimpse of shrewd brown eyes. Much shrewder than Pendergast or Blodeuwedd, which was weird, since they were the same eyes.

“Granny, this is Penny’s…” Blodeuwedd paused, and the grandmother raised an eyebrow. “Bean. She’s from the capital, so she doesn’t speak Welsh yet.”  
“A shame.” The grandmother said in a stronger accent, almost like she was partially singing the words. She stepped down from her chair, and approached. “What is your name, girl?”  
“Bean.” She glanced at Blodeuwedd as she said this.  
“Not your nickname, girl. The name that your parents gave you at birth. I don’t hold with nicknames. People must live with what they named their children.” She shot Pendergast a look as she said this, and he looked away.

“Hey, don’t be mean to him.” Bean said. “That’s my job. Besides, what’s your name, anyway?”  
“I am Rhoswen, wife of the late Maredudd Griffiths, mother of Cadwaladr and Arwel.” The short woman said, drawing herself up to her full height. She was still about a foot shorter than Bean.  
Bean stuck her hand out. “Tiabeanie. Nice to meet you.”  
“Mm… named for the princess, no doubt to curry favor with the royal family.” Rhoswen said. Bean caught the panicked look that Pendergast and Blodeuwedd traded that time. Rhoswen looked at Bean’s hand, and gently took it. “Soft hands… well, you’re undoubtedly a noblewoman. I assume you are being pointedly annoying about your family name, so I will not press you there.”

“Hello, Granny.” Pendergast said.  
“Not talking to you right now, boy. Byddwch yn dweud wrthyf pan fyddwch yn priodi. A BYDDWCH yn priodi â'r fenyw hon. Ni fyddwch yn gwarthu enw ein teulu.” Rhoswen clipped out.  
Pendergast winced, and bowed his head. “Os yw hi eisiau i mi.”  
Confused, Bean looked at Blodeuwedd, who seemed like she was about to start bouncing on the balls of her feet again. “It’s nothing bad.” Blodeuwedd whispered conspiratorially.

“Blodeuwedd, the ribbon.” Rhoswen ordered.  
Blodeuwedd dug a ribbon out from somewhere, as well as a quill and a piece of paper. She sat on a pile of paper, ready.  
“Uh… what’s happening?” Bean asked, looking at Pendergast. He shrugged.  
“I am measuring you.” Rhoswen said.

“…why?”  
Rhoswen looked up. “Because I have a dress from my mother that I would like to remain in the family.”  
“But I’m not…” Bean was silenced by a Look from Rhoswen.  
“I was unable to wear it, since I was too short.” Rhoswen said, taking a measurement of Bean’s hips. “Hannah is too tall, Lynette too thin… Rachel is still growing, and Blodeuwedd does not have the hips or bodice for it. Alice is…” Rhoswen pursed her lips. “I don’t know if she would like it. Besides, her bodice is _too_ large.”

“I see why you told me David was smitten.” Pendergast said to Blodeuwedd. Bean made a face at him.  
“Ugh, they’re _insufferable_.” Blodeuwedd threw her hands in the air. “All ‘my love’ this and ‘my heart’ that.”  
“Who are all those people you mentioned, anyway?” Bean asked.  
“Hannah is my eldest daughter in law. She is married to my son, Cadwaladr, current baron of the land.” Rhoswen said. “I don’t like her. Lynette is my other daughter in law. She was married to my son Arwel. I like her more. Rachel is Hannah’s daughter, Blodeuwedd is Lynette’s. I like neither of them.”

“Granny!” Blodeuwedd fake-gasped.  
“You’re right, I like Rachel. She’s a good girl, who listens.” Rhoswen said, almost sly. “Alice is the one who’s marrying my third eldest grandson, David. She has huge… tracts of land. I don’t like her all that much either.”

“You don’t like anyone.” Blodeuwedd said as Rhoswen measured Bean’s instep.  
“A practice that has kept me from being disappointed with anyone and everyone.” Rhoswen said. “Sit down. I want to see your face properly.”  
Bean sat down on a nearby pile of papers. Rhoswen tilted her chin up. “Hmm…”  
“It’s the teeth, isn’t it?” Bean asked.

“Excellent point. Open your mouth.”  
“Uh…?”  
“Do it.”

Bean opened her mouth.  
Rhoswen looked in, satisfied. “Your teeth seem to be in excellent condition. Unlike Blodeuwedd, who has had to have several pulled because she can’t stop eating sweets.”  
“Granny!” Blodeuwedd hissed.  
“But… the front two…” Bean said.

“What about them?” Rhoswen said.  
“They’re ugly, I know they are.” Bean stood.  
Rhoswen looked unfazed. “Hmm. I do hope my grandson wasn’t the one to say that to you, else I shall have him caned.”  
“I would never—” Pendergast began.

“It wasn’t him.” Bean huffed. “But everyone else says it. People think it.”  
“Then people are fools. They add to your charm, child. You have a beautiful shade of hair, and those freckles complement your skin well. Not many can pull it off—though I suppose that’s the fashion now. In my day, we would have killed to have such light hair, so we sat on the roof and tried to bleach it in the sun without getting our skin tanned. A few freckles aren’t anything to scoff at, and neither are your teeth. They make you seem more…” Rhoswen waved her hand. “Blodeuwedd, dilysach?”

“Authentic, Granny.” Blodeuwedd supplied.  
“Yes.” Rhoswen nodded with finality. “ _Authentic_. A quality few have these days.”  
Bean flushed. “Oh. Thanks.”  
Rhoswen nodded again. “I never speak anything but the truth. Now, either you may sit quietly like Blodeuwedd while I catch up with my grandson, or you can go introduce yourself to Lynette in the kitchens.”

“I will not be quiet.” Blodeuwedd said. “And she _will_ get lost.”  
“Why the kitchens?” Bean asked, pointedly ignoring Blodeuwedd.  
“Being noble is all fine and good. It gives us a sense of purpose, a mission from the Lord.” Rhoswen briefly crossed herself. “We are of course, noble at heart as well, or at least meant to be. But nobility will not keep the cold from your door, or hunger from your stomach. We are not a rich family, for all our blood. This is not a rich kingdom, and believe me, I have _opinions_ about that.”  
“No politics while Penny’s home.” Blodeuwedd said from the corner.  
Rhoswen waved her off. “The point is, it’s always helpful to know how to bake bread and care for yourself in some ways. Hopefully you’ll never have to use it, but they’re important skills nonetheless. You should know them for the sake of knowing. Do you understand, Tiabeanie?”

“I do. No one calls me that, though—except my worst enemies and my best friends.” Bean shot a look at Pendergast as she said that, and smiled slightly. He tensed, but then smiled back at her.  
Rhoswen was unamused. “Then figure out what I am then, because I do not resort to nicknames. Sit down, then. Pendergast, I suppose your time has finally come.”

“Hello, Granny.”  
“Pleasantries have already been exchanged. How is the capital?”  
“…same as ever.”  
“Hmm. I imagine our definitions of _same_ are different, but no matter.” Rhoswen said. “You neglected to mention your injury to your sister to relay to the rest of us. I scarcely had time to prepare myself, and I am given to understand that your mother doesn’t know.”

“I… sorry, Granny. It slipped my mind.” Pendergast said, straightening and folding his arms behind his back.  
“ _Hmm_. We were all very worried when you did not reply to Blodeuwedd’s missives for five months this past year.”  
“I was turned to stone, Granny.”  
“Is that sass, boy?” Rhoswen narrowed her eyes.

“No, Granny.” Pendergast said, staring straight ahead.  
Rhoswen tucked her hands behind her back, and watched him. Pendergast was a good two feet taller than her, but she was still very much in charge. “I am glad that you have come back to the family.” Rhoswen finally said.  
Pendergast blinked rapidly. “I… you… what?”

“Clearly, you are making bad decisions alone in the capital.” Rhoswen continued. “I am also glad that you have found a wife.”  
“I—she’s not—I said—” Pendergast was beginning to panic, looking between Rhoswen and Bean frantically.  
“If I hear word of a bastard, I shall be displeased.” Rhoswen continued, looking between Bean and Pendergast.

Both flushed.  
“I would _never_ dishonor her like that.” Pendergast snapped before Bean could say anything.  
Rhoswen returned to her desk. “I’m glad to hear that. May I be honest with you, Pendergast? You are definitely in my top five grandchildren.”  
“Hey! You only have five!” Blodeuwedd said from the corner.

“And I am not supposed to play favorites.” Rhoswen shrugged. “However, you are decidedly within the top three.”  
“…with who?” Pendergast asked slowly.  
“That would be playing favorites. Do not ask again, or I will drop you in my rankings.” Rhoswen huffed. “Thomas is currently at the bottom. But… I am proud of you.”

Pendergast looked absolutely floored. “I… thank you, Granny.”  
Rhoswen inclined her head as though she had just given him an enormous gift. “Blodeuwedd tells me that you are often in administrative positions regarding the guarding of the capitol. I’m glad that you have taken so well to such work. …I hope the loss of your eye has taught you to be more careful with your life. There will always be people here who care about you.”

“Th-thank you. I… I’m not going to stop my job though. It’s my _job_.” Pendergast said.  
“The princess won’t die if you leave her alone for twenty minutes.” Blodeuwedd said with an evil grin, nudging Bean slightly.  
“Blodeuwedd, don’t tell me how to do my job.” Pendergast huffed.

“Then I will.” Rhoswen snapped. “You should not risk your life so often, foolish boy. You should not risk the rest of you either. You have talents beyond your martial prowess, and the danger is very real.” She looked pointedly at his eyepatch, and Pendergast flushed with embarrassment.  
“I’m not quitting my job.”  
“Then you are a fool. Leave my office.” Rhoswen snapped, waving her hand dismissively.

“Hey, he’s just… he’s Pendergast, he’s fine.” Bean pointed out. “He never… okay, other people have died, but not him. He’s always fine.”  
“Exactly, _thank you_.” Pendergast said.  
“How have neither of you grasped the permanence of death, given that you’ve seen people die?” Blodeuwedd asked. “Edgar the Fearless was _beheaded_ by _elves_. Death is inevitable, my brother shouldn’t be on the front lines to meet it.”

Pendergast scoffed. “I’ve survived this long.”  
“With that attitude, it’s a wonder.” Rhoswen scoffed back. “I’d had years before I lost my husband. …Maredudd went slowly, but it still… _ached_ when he was gone. I was still caught off-guard. Don’t be fools about what time you have together. Go on then, go see Lynette and let her coddle you. And then try and tell me you’re not mortal, not able to be hurt.”  
“It’s a job, Granny.”

“My grandchildren aren’t interchangeable, and I doubt your Tiabeanie would settle for one of those idiots you apparently train.” Rhoswen waved her hand dismissively again.  
There was a tense silence for a minute, then Pendergast finally gave a short bow and left.  
“I am sorry about my grandson.” Rhoswen finally said. “I don’t think he understands how much you care about him.”

“I… I don’t think that… I don’t care about him _that_ much, I’m not his wife or anything.” Bean said. “But, uh, you were nicer to me than to him. What the fuck?”  
“I have three grandsons, and he is one of the better two.” Rhoswen said, watching Bean.  
“You were still nicer to me.” Bean insisted. “It’s his first time home in _years_.”

Rhoswen looked at Blodeuwedd. “Rwy'n hoffi hi.”  
Blodeuwedd grinned. “Fi hefyd.”  
“Hey, this was between me and you.” Bean snapped.  
Rhoswen shrugged. “I will be honest with you. My grandchildren have had few champions. It is hard to impose that kind of relationship, especially after years apart. But… you are good for him. And that matters to me more than anything else.”

“It’s not like that, though. We’re barely even friends!” Bean replied.  
“Then somebody will bend, unexpectedly.” Rhoswen tilted her head. “I loved Maredudd, but not in the beginning. I resented being sent away from the capital to this place. I resented losing my friends. I resented having nothing to do with myself but care for my children, and then they were both out of my hands. He bent first. He listened to me. He gave me this office, a voice regarding the castle and our sons. He enlarged the library, filled it with stories and reports and everything else.” She smiled, lost in memory. “Of all our grandchildren, I always thought that Pendergast enjoyed it the most. Don’t be afraid to bend, Tiabeanie.”

“I… okay?” Bean said slowly, looking at Blodeuwedd, who nodded happily. Blodeuwedd then grabbed Bean’s hand. “Let’s go make bread and see Mum! You’ll like her.”  
“Dywedwch wrth eich mam bod angen mam arni.” Rhoswen said offhandedly, pointing at Bean.  
Blodeuwedd’s face lit up, and she nodded, before dragging Bean out of the room.

“Wait, what—” Bean said as she was being dragged away.

Lynette was a very thin blonde woman with tired green eyes. She was in the kitchen, quietly humming to herself, when Blodeuwedd burst in, Bean in tow.  
“Mum!” Blodeuwedd called.  
Lynette wiped her hands on her apron and made her way over. “Hello, fy nghariad aur. Who’s this?”  
“Penny’s girlfriend!” Blodeuwedd pushed Bean forward. “Her name’s Bean.”

“Your brother’s back? Where is he?” Lynette looked around, as though Pendergast was about to pop out of a cupboard.  
“Who knows?” Bean said awkwardly. “He kind of left because your mother-in-law was being rude—and I’m not his girlfriend, Blod—Birdy.”  
“Not yet.”  
“Not ever.” Bean corrected.

“Hmm.” Blodeuwedd said, much like Rhoswen earlier. She then turned to Lynette. “Mae ei mam yn ofnadwy.”  
“Okay, you have to stop talking shit about me in Welsh.” Bean said irritably. “Pen’s going to teach me, and I’m going to work out what you’re saying eventually.”  
Lynette’s heart fluttered. _Pen._ Her precious boy had someone. She pulled Bean into a hug. “Welcome to the family.”

“Oh… thanks?” Bean said. She eventually leaned into the hug, and Lynette patted her on the back. She then pulled away, and cupped Bean’s face in her hands. “I can see why he likes you, you’re utterly gorgeous.”  
“Okay, that’s the second time today you guys have complimented me like that.” Bean turned slightly pink.  
“Then it must be true.” Lynette said simply. “I would be honored to be your mother now.”  
“That was fast.” Blodeuwedd muttered.

“What?” Bean said. “I mean, I have a mom. She sucks, but she’s still my mother.”  
“I’ve found that sometimes, it’s best to choose your family yourself.” Lynette said softly. “My mother abandoned me and my father when I was young, and I’ve only met her a handful of times. She can be… harsh. Unkind.”

“Yeah, I know how that feels.” Bean muttered, before glaring at Blodeuwedd. “Did Pendergast tell you about that?”  
“He mentioned she turned him to stone.” Blodeuwedd pointed out—and that made Lynette’s heart crack in fear all over again. She needed to see her baby herself to make sure he was alright. Blodeuwedd then turned to her mother. “Granny said Bean should learn how to make bread.”

Lynette beamed. “Of course! I’d love to show you—come over here, I’ll show you my children’s favorite. They all inherited my sweet tooth, you see, and it’s an easy place to start. Of course, you don’t always have to add the honey…”  
Bean, in turn, let the chatter and friendliness wash over her. Lynette was constantly helping her, so that she didn’t make mistakes, and even if she did, Lynette didn’t seem to mind. Lynette would just gently correct her, and explain. It was kind of nice, having a ‘real’ mom, even if Lynette wasn’t _actually_ her mom. Whatever. Lynette had offered, and that was good enough for Bean. Lynette also was cheerful, but not weirdly bitter like Elfo. She was constantly humming, or trying to teach Bean new Welsh words.

Why had Pendergast ever left?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Diawl bach;_ little devil.  
>  _Yna pam na ddaethoch chi yn ôl? Ac achub ni? ;_ Then why didn’t you come back? And save us?  
>  _Dewch i mewn.;_ Come in.  
>  _Byddwch yn dweud wrthyf pan fyddwch yn priodi. A BYDDWCH yn priodi â'r fenyw hon. Ni fyddwch yn gwarthu enw ein teulu.;_ You will tell me when you get married. And you WILL get married to this woman. You will not disgrace the name of our family.  
>  _Os yw hi eisiau i mi.;_ If she wants me.  
>  _Rwy'n hoffi hi.;_ I like her.  
>  _Fi hefyd.;_ Me too.  
>  _Dywedwch wrth eich mam bod angen mam arni.;_ Tell your mother she needs a mother.  
>  _Fy nghauriad aur;_ My golden darling  
>  _Mae ei mam yn ofnadwy.;_ Her mother is terrible.


	7. Thomas continues to be a shit brother

Pendergast, for his part, went outside the keep when he was banished from Rhoswen’s office. There was a huge juniper tree just outside, and a large figure sitting under it. As he drew closer, he also saw a gravestone that the figure was leaning against.

“I thought I might find you here.” Pendergast said.  
His older brother looked up. “I thought you might come back with both eyes.”  
Pendergast crossed his arms and tried to stop a smile, while Thomas laughed at his own joke. Then he shakily got to his feet. Pendergast was tall, but Thomas was taller. Thomas was also built big in general—he wasn’t lanky, like their cousin. Pendergast was active, but Thomas was _big_ naturally. That had come from their father, just like their shared hair and eye colour.

“You look like shit.” Pendergast said.  
Thomas laughed again. “Yeah, I feel like shit too. …it’s good to see you, Penny.”  
“Wish I could say the same.” Pendergast said drily.  
“Stop it, you fucking comedian.” Thomas grinned.

“You smell like alcohol.” Pendergast said bluntly.  
The jovial air instantly turned tense.  
“You smell like horse.” Thomas finally replied.  
“I wasn’t going to fucking _walk_ from the capital, like a pilgrim.” Pendergast snorted.  
“Come, sit.” Thomas said.

Both brothers sat under the tree.  
“Why’d they have to bury him here?” Pendergast huffed. “This was _my_ place to get away from him.”  
“Nice view.” Thomas shrugged. “Wasn’t my idea—it was Granny’s.”  
“…so, what happened _that_ day?”

“I assume you want to talk about your eye as much as I want to talk about our father’s death, Penny.”  
Pendergast huffed, then flipped his eyepatch up, revealing the sewn-shut eye.  
“Booo, that’s not that bad.” Thomas huffed.  
“Took an arrow to the eye. Brought the eye out with it when it was pulled out, apparently.” Pendergast grimaced. “They had to put me out for it.”

“So you were drunk out of your mind.”  
“Mm-hmm. Hated it. Woke up hungover and without a fucking eye. …I was scared, you know. Of ever touching alcohol, in case I ended up like…” Pendergast nodded towards the gravestone.  
Thomas shrugged. “Yeah. I can see that. But you were never going to. You were always the good one. The good _son._ ”

“Why do you drink?”  
“Same reasons he did, I suspect. I hate my life here. I hate that I’m not good enough for anybody. I hate my family.”  
“Touch them, and I’ll kill you myself.” Pendergast snapped.  
“I _wouldn’t_.” Thomas snapped back. “I’d jump off the battlements if I ever thought about raising a hand to Birdy. That’s a promise.”

There was a small silence, then Pendergast said, “Don’t.”  
“Don’t what?”  
“Don’t jump. I don’t want to be the eldest.”  
Thomas shoved him playfully. “Fuck off.”

“I’m serious, don’t.”  
“Yeah, yeah… mostly I just come out here. Can’t hurt anybody out here, ‘cept him, and fucker deserves it.” Thomas spat on the grave.  
“Did you?” Pendergast asked.  
“Did I what?”  
“Kill him.”

“…no. I didn’t.” Thomas finally said.  
“What happened? I told you mine.” Pendergast said.  
Thomas looked like he was considering it. “Granny was talking to me in my room. About what I wanted to do with myself. You know how she is. She kept saying we could find a wife who wouldn’t _mind_ that I’m…” He gestured vaguely. Pendergast nodded.  
“It was kind of her. I didn’t want kindness.” Thomas continued. “I yelled at her to leave. Arwel came in. He was mad about something, don’t even know what. I think he was just hungover and didn’t want to hear me. She tried to calm him down. Or yell him down. I don’t really know or care. He raised a hand to her, I got in the way. She’s smaller than Mum, Penny. Twice as old. He’d kill her. He was mad I’d gotten in the way. And she was just… _horrified_. Brown eyes went all big, she looked just like Birdy. That made me want to protect her even more, y’know? I managed to grapple him near the window, just to scare him.”

“And he fell.” Pendergast supplied.  
Thomas snorted. “Should’ve known you’d buy into the _official_ story. She pushed him. I think it was really spur of the moment too. As he fell, she told me to say that… well, he fell. He did, technically, so it didn’t give me a headache. He certainly didn’t fly. Cadwaladr didn’t believe me, but then I asked him what reason I’d have to kill my own father. …he knew, Penny, but he couldn’t admit it. Granny hadn’t known. She kept asking me questions, and when I wouldn’t answer, she asked Mum and Birdy. I thought she’d write to you.”

Pendergast was quiet for a minute. “I always thought they _all_ knew. He didn’t hide it.”  
Thomas shrugged. “Hid it enough, I suppose. No one ever wants to think their baby’s a monster—that’s why Mum avoids me when I’m like this. That, and I look just like him. Maybe I should lose an eye too.”  
Pendergast shoved him. “ _Dick._ ”  
Thomas shoved him back. “Idiot.”  
This promptly started a shoving contest, complete with insults.

“Asshole.”  
“Bootlicker.”  
“Drunk.”  
“Cyclops.”  
“Layabout.”  
“Mummy’s boy.”  
“Dumbass.”  
“White knight wannabe.”  
“Cunt.”  
“Oh, we’re finally using our big boy insults are we? Babyface.”

“I have _stubble_ , Thomas.” Pendergast huffed. “And I’m supposed to be the blind one.”  
Thomas laughed. “You got me there, babyface.”  
“Get a new insult.”  
“Why? This one gets to you.” Thomas grinned.

“You are _such_ a dick.”  
“That’s already been established. I win.” Thomas said triumphantly.  
“You usually do when it comes to shoving.” Pendergast said. Both brothers fell silent again. This one was far more companionable.   
“I’m glad you’re home.” Thomas finally said.  
“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not the same without you.”  
“I’ll only be staying a week.”  
“I know. Birdy’ll also be glad to have you back.”

“She was mad I didn’t tell her about the eye.” Pendergast admitted.  
“Well, you don’t write to me at all.” Thomas laughed.  
“I didn’t know you were literate.”  
“Just because I have better things to do than memorize ‘The Song of Roland’ doesn’t mean I can’t read, prick.”

“Don’t start shoving again. There’s a… I brought someone with me, and I can’t be muddy.” Pendergast huffed.  
Thomas rolled his eyes. “You started it.” Then he tried to subtly look at his brother. “You brought a girl home?”  
“She’s a friend. If that, she kind of hates me.” Pendergast admitted.

“Did you kidnap her and need to stash her somewhere?”  
“No! Of course not. She came willingly.”  
“Then she doesn’t hate you. And I’d wager she’s not just a friend.” Thomas waggled his eyebrows.  
Pendergast scoffed. “You have no context—”  
“Penny’s in _loooove_.” Thomas said mockingly.

“Shut up!” Pendergast flushed. “Someone might hear you!”  
“Oh, that lot? They’ll assume you’re getting married anyway.” Thomas cackled. “You brought a _girl_ home, have you got your children’s names planned out? A wedding date? You haven’t eloped, have you?”  
“Shut up!” The blush was spreading.

“Hey, I’m just getting ahead of the curve. If I know some of the answers, I can help when other people ask them.” Thomas cackled again.  
“Thomas, I promise, she hates me.” Pendergast said.  
“Mm-hmm.” Thomas patted his brother on the head. “I don’t know much about women—”  
“I’ll say.”

“Shut up, you know even less. At least I know I don’t like them. You seemed like you were going to become a monk for a while. Anyway, I don’t know much about women, but I wouldn’t follow a man back to this shithole unless I liked him. Where’s she staying?”  
“We’re staying in the same room.” Pendergast admitted. “Birdy’s idea.”  
Thomas cackled even louder.

“Are you done?” Pendergast huffed.  
“Yes. How’d she react?”  
“She wouldn’t let me sleep on the floor. I suppose I’ll have to put my sword between us—”  
“Not sure if I want that to be a euphemism or not.”

“It’s not!” Pendergast said, shocked. “…how would that even work?”  
“I don’t know, presumably better than you pulling out a weapon and using it to justify no contact. We’ll all assume you’ll be fucking anyway, thanks for putting that image in my head.”  
“You put that image in your own head!” Pendergast squawked indignantly. “And that’s not—okay, that’s part of the problem, but…”

“What, you’re worried you’ll ravage her in your sleep?” Thomas scoffed.  
“I’m worried a _situation_ might occur.” Pendergast hissed.  
“Ew, thanks for that.” Thomas crinkled his nose in disgust. “Maybe you should go be a monk. Monks don’t have _situations_ I think.”  
“They’re not eunuchs, Thomas.”  
“Well, unless you use that sword of yours to remove a _situation_ entirely, I wouldn’t worry about it. What happens, happens.” Thomas stood and stretched. “Isn’t that something Granny says? That everything is part of God’s plan?”

“ _Tell_ _me_ she didn’t say that to you after she found out about…” Pendergast nodded towards the gravestone.  
“No, she didn’t.” Thomas said. “…she did say she was glad she didn’t carve him from her womb, because she got us. That it was the only reason she was glad he was born in the first place.”  
“I can’t imagine Mum saying that about one of us.” Pendergast said.

Thomas cracked his neck. “ _I_ can’t imagine beating my wife and children. Can you?”  
“No.” Pendergast said vehemently. “I always swore I’d never be like him.”  
Thomas nodded. “Yeah. You get it. Mum’s never going to kill _us_ , Penny. We’re not the lowest form of life possible. Anyway, speaking of Mum, I’m surprised she let you out of her sight after seeing your eye.”

“I… haven’t seen Mum yet.” Pendergast admitted, standing up as well.  
“Hmm.” Thomas said, clearly judging Pendergast. “Not a very nice thing to do. Come along, prodigal son.” He grabbed Pendergast by the shoulders, and began to propel him towards the castle.  
“I’m not _avoiding_ her.” Pendergast said.  
“ _Sure_.”

“You can let go of me. I’m not a child.”  
“Mm-hmm.”  
They made it back into the castle.  
“Hello cousin! Glad to see you’re back!” David called out.  
Pendergast waved slightly.

“Not now, David!” Thomas called.  
“Where even is Mum?” Pendergast asked.  
“Where all women go when their husbands are dead and their children grown. The kitchen.” Thomas said blithely.

There was the sound of feminine laughter from the kitchen, and then Thomas pushed Pendergast through the doorway. He stumbled a bit on the steps.

“Hey, Pen! We’re making honey rolls.” Bean said proudly.  
“I don’t know about you, _Pen_ , but I don’t have nicknames for people I hate.” Thomas said, clapping his brother on the back. Pendergast stumbled again, and glared at his brother.  
“What?” Bean asked, dusting her hands off on her pants.  
“I… you don’t like me.” Pendergast blurted out. “That’s fine, I get why—”  
“You’re great at this.” Thomas laughed.

“I like you.” Bean said.  
“Wh—really?” Pendergast said, blushing. “Like, just as a person? Because I thought—”  
“Machgen!” Lynette gasped, running over. “What has happened to you?! Who did this?!”  
“I didn’t catch his name, Mum. It was during the crusades.” Pendergast pointed out.  
Lynette did not dust her hands off, and subsequently got flour all over Pendergast’s face as she grabbed it, her eyes searching every inch of it. This was when Thomas left, muttering about women’s spaces and how Pendergast was a baby for being fussed over.

“ _Mum_.” Pendergast said, deeply embarrassed. His siblings snickered (Thomas from the doorway, poking his head back in just to make a face), and Bean grinned.  
“You look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?”  
“I… what’s enough?” Pendergast said.  
Lynette gasped. “ _Pendergast Llewellyn Griffiths_.”  
“Mum, I’m fine, really.” Pendergast squirmed out of her grasp.

“My baby lost an eye…” Lynette sounded like she was choking back a sob. Then she found something new to fuss over. “Pendergast, you’re so _thin_! Have you been eating enough? Especially with how active you are?”  
“I… usually I’m not that active, I’m just guarding the king—”  
“Not an answer.” Lynette said firmly.

“It’s winter, and I’m doing what I can. It’s just a few skipped meals—can we stop having this conversation?” Pendergast asked, making eye contact with Bean. She smirked, and he blushed.   
“Oh, my little knight, what am I to do with you?” Lynette sighed. “…your nose has been broken and reset since you left as well, haven’t you?”  
“Only a few times.” Pendergast said. “Less than when I was here.”  
“You were here for seventeen years, idiot.” Blodeuwedd huffed.

“Blodeuwedd, play nice. When was the last time?” Lynette said gently.  
“Uh…” Pendergast did some quick math in his head. “Near the end of summer?”  
“What? I don’t remember that.” Bean piped up.  
Pendergast shot her an exasperated look. “You _caused_ it.”

“Huh? … _Oh_ , from when I headbutted you? Shit, sorry man.” Bean said. “I was just trying to get you out of the way.”  
“You could have asked nicely.” Pendergast crossed his arms.  
Bean raised an eyebrow, and mimicked him. “I thought I did.”

Pendergast laughed. “You’re shit at apologizing.”  
Lynette had been going to interfere. Her baby shouldn’t be hit, especially not by someone he loved. Never again. But… “You laughed.”  
“Uh… yeah, sorry. I know it’s a serious issue, but this time it wasn’t _that_ serious, I was being a dick, it was just a light headbutt among friends—”  
“Why do you ramble a lot more when you’re here?” Bean cut in.

“Because I can’t give my mother concise orders.” Pendergast pointed out, aghast. “Here, I’m the subordinate, and I’m expected to explain my behavior.”  
“No, machgen. You _laughed_.” Lynette repeated. “Easily.”  
“Uh…? Yeah, he does that sometimes…?” Bean said, looking at Pendergast. He crossed his arms.

Lynette firmly decided that she loved this girl. This girl had made her son laugh—her dour, serious baby, who was always looking over his shoulder when he’d left. Whom the world had obviously not been kind to, and yet he still unwound enough to laugh over nothing with her. That cemented a place in Lynette’s heart for Bean, right next to the rest of her children.

“Could have fooled me.” Blodeuwedd commented. “…was this the mermaid incident?”  
“Oh, shit, he told you about that?” Bean asked, looking between Blodeuwedd and Pendergast.  
“He tells me everything.” Blodeuwedd said. “Or at least, I don’t know what he doesn’t tell me, if that makes sense?”   
Lynette used the opportunity to take the fresh bread out of the oven, and wrap the rolls in abit of cloth, before putting it in a basket. She then more or less shoved the basket into Pendergast’s arms.

“You need to eat.” Lynette said sternly, before turning to Bean with a smile. “And a cook should always taste what they made. Why don’t you show her the castle, machgen?”  
“But he just got here.” Blodeuwedd complained.  
“He’s here for a week, fy nghariad aur.” Lynette said, waving Bean and Pendergast off.  
“I mean, if you’re sure…” Pendergast said from the doorway.

“Go, go!” Lynette said. “We’ll see you later.”  
“Why did you do that?” Blodeuwedd asked as Pendergast and Bean left.  
“He was beginning to get overwhelmed by interaction.”  
“But you sent her with him.”  
“He lit up when he saw her.” Lynette said simply, before clasping her hands together. “Fy nghariad aur, he was staying in the capitol because he was _happy_. That’s all I wanted.”

Meanwhile, Pendergast didn’t really know what to do. “Uh… it’s a castle, much like… other castles…”  
“Where’d you go earlier? There aren’t any knights for you to run off and train here.” Bean pointed out, crossing her arms casually.  
Pendergast took her hand, and led her out of the keep. The wind blew gently, filling the air with the scent of juniper. Pendergast put the basket down at the base of the tree, and cupped his hands for her to step into.

“Where’s the horse?” Bean said, looking around.  
“There isn’t one—it’s to help you climb the tree.”  
She snorted, and climbed up herself. “Pen, you realize I climb in and out of my tower all the time, right?”  
“Legally speaking, no. I very much do not realize that, because if I acknowledge it, I have to tell your father.” Pendergast handed her the basket, then climbed up next to her.

“You’re such a dork.” Bean leaned against him, since there wasn’t much room on the rest of the branch.  
“Your dork, princess.”  
“C’mon, man. Do I have to make it an order? You love following those.”

“Sorry, Bean.” Pendergast tried to focus on something other than how comforting her weight felt against his body, or how he could smell her hair.  
“So, why here?” Bean asked, turning to look at him.  
“…I used to hide up here as a child.”  
She grinned at him. “And you hid here as an adult until your brother found you?”

“No. He was already here. Visiting our father’s grave.” Pendergast nodded towards the gravestone on the other side of the tree.  
Bean looked down. “Shit. Sorry, Pen.”  
“Don’t be. I’m not.”  
Bean blinked. “Uh… okay. Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really. There isn’t much to talk about.” Pendergast focused on the basket instead, because he could still smell butterscotch instead of juniper, and he didn’t want to see her big blue eyes fill with _pity_. He unwrapped the cloth, and took a roll out, offering it to her. “Want one?”  
“You first.” Bean said, watching him intently.

He took a bite. It wasn’t _perfect_. There was a touch more salt than he was used to, and it wasn’t as fluffy as his mother made. But. _But_. It was still amazing, and she had still made them. And he found that maybe he liked a bit more salt, since it balanced the sweetness of the honey more. He swallowed.  
“Good?” Bean asked immediately.  
“Since when do you care what I think?” Pendergast teased.

“Since I spent forever making honey buns for you.”  
“They’re amazing.” Pendergast said earnestly, taking another bite. “Thank you, I haven’t had them in forever.”  
Bean took a roll and swung her legs thoughtfully. “I mean, your mom showed me how to do it. And I got stuff out of it too—I got to learn something, and your family’s really nice.”  
“I’m glad that you like them so much.”

“Yeah!” Bean lit up. “I wish my mom was a lot more like yours.”  
“I also wish your mother was more like mine.” Pendergast nudged her shoulder playfully. “Then I might have been able to remember five months that passed me by.”  
Bean nudged him back. “Don’t be an asshole. …do they like me? Or are they just pretending?”

“Are you kidding? They all like you.” Pendergast said. “Including Granny. She likes when people stand up to her. Not only that, but you stood up to her for me.”  
“She shouldn’t have said that stuff.” Bean scowled. Pendergast was seized with the sudden desire to kiss it off of her face. He immediately turned his attention to trying to count as many juniper cones as possible.

“She was just worried. They don’t know how _administrative_ my job is.” He finally said, once he was sure that all his blood was where it was _supposed_ to be.  
Bean scoffed. “ _I_ didn’t know you did administration at all.”  
“Exactly.”  
They sat in companionable silence for a minute, taking new rolls when they finished the previous ones.  
Bean turned hers in her hands though. “…hey, Pen?”  
“Yes?”  
“Don’t die on me, okay.”

“…I didn’t know you cared.”  
“You keep saying that, but… I don’t know. I guess we’re friends now? I like being around you, and it’d be weird if you were gone. So stay safe, okay?”  
“I always do.” Pendergast said quietly. Bean took his free hand, and squeezed it. They lapsed into another easy silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fy nghariaud aur; my golden love  
> Machgen; (my) little boy, a fond nickname


	8. Bean's a role model now

Of course, the silence could not last forever. Eventually, they ran out of honey buns, and Pendergast felt like they had to return to the castle. Fine.

He disappeared, presumably to get rid of the basket, and Bean was left to her own devices. So, when she saw a flash of ginger-brown hair, she turned expectantly. Most people in Dreamland proper didn’t have his hair colour, but she was quickly learning that _everyone_ here did.

Either that, or somehow there was time travel, because the person in front of her was Pendergast from five years ago. Well, he was smiling—she was pretty sure she’d never seen Pendergast smile prior to the Lemon Crusade—and he wasn’t _exactly_ the same—a softer jaw, an unbroken nose, slightly darker hair and eyebrows… and he looked comfortable out of armor. But that was Pendergast.

Bean stared.  
Time Traveler Pendergast was walking arm in arm with a girl about Birdy’s age, dressed in the kind of dresses that Bunty kept saying Bean should wear.  
“My love, I never knew happiness before I met you.” Time Traveler Pendergast said, gazing at the girl. “Everything else was but a pale imitation.” Okay, the voice was definitely different. It wasn’t as rough as Pendergast’s, like wood smoke and rain and juniper, underneath it all.  
If Bean was _completely_ honest with herself, seeing Time Traveler Pendergast was reminding her of the embarrassing crush she’d had on Pendergast when she was… what, 14?

Not that she thought Time Traveler Pendergast was that hot. Oh no. The problem was that _actual_ Pendergast was kind of hot, not that she’d ever admit it. Ever.  
Time Travel Pendergast twirled the girl—wait, were they dancing? _Here_?  
“You light up my life far more than the sun does.” The girl said.

“What the _fuck_.” Bean said softly to herself, dimly aware of someone behind her.  
“Teenagers take themselves more seriously than they should.” Pendergast— _real_ Pendergast—said behind her.  
Bean jumped, then turned around. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t, you were just distracted. …honestly, them being sappy is probably for the best. Most arranged marriages don’t work out so well.”  
Bean snorted. “You don’t have to tell me. They’re _so_ sappy though.”  
Pendergast glanced at her. “You sound almost jealous, Bean.”

“Wh—no!” Bean said a little too quickly.  
“It’s alright. I get it. …want to play at it for a bit, since everyone thinks we’re courting anyway? Just to have someone say it?”  
“…okay.” Bean said in a small voice.  
Pendergast turned to her, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I… it’s hard for me to put into words what I feel for you. You are dynamic, electric… amazing. I love the sound of your laugh. I love your smile. Your happiness makes the world a bit brighter, for me at least.”  
Bean felt like her face was on fire. “I… that’s a lot more personal than what they’re saying.”

Pendergast stepped back a bit. “In all fairness, I’ve known you for five years. David has had a few weeks at most to get to know Alice.”  
“Cousin!” Time Traveler Pendergast seemed to have noticed them. “I can finally give you the greeting you deserve!” He dragged the girl—Alice, Bean guessed—over to meet Bean and real Pendergast.

“Hi, David.” Pendergast said. “And this must be Alice.”  
Alice extended a hand. “Lady Alice Broderick of Bentwood.”  
Pendergast and Bean both stiffened at the word ‘Bentwood’. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Sir Pendergast ap Arwel ap Maredudd.” Pendergast replied, shaking her hand.

Alice looked perplexed, as though she had expected him to do something different. Alice had dark, shiny hair falling in an almost perfect way around her face, and huge almond-shaped eyes. She was also fashionably plump, an image of a perfect court lady.  
“My cousin would never wish to lay his lips on my bride.” David said, snaking an arm around Alice’s waist.  
“Also, she’s Birdy’s age.” Pendergast added.

“It’s been a while since you were home.” David said, cocking his head. “Did something keep you?”  
“My work.” Pendergast raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.  
“I didn’t know work was more important than family…” David mused.  
“It is a life or death situation in some cases. You would still be here.”

David paused. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I’ll be here all my life, won’t I? Just like Father. Grandfather. Everyone before them, back to the first Griffiths to lay a stone in the castle. And my sons and their sons and all their sons thereafter.”  
“It’s great here though.” Bean broke in.  
Alice smiled awkwardly. David broke in. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

“Oh, I’m Bean.”  
“Just Bean?”  
“Yeah, just Bean.”  
David looked at Pendergast, then extended his free hand to Bean. “I am Lord David Griffiths ap Cadwaladr ap Maredudd. My father is the baron of the castle. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  
Bean gave him her hand, and he gently kissed it. “My lady.”  
Bean pulled her hand back, and looked at Pendergast, who was rolling his eye.

“Uh… thanks.” Bean finally said.  
“I’m surprised that my cousin has forgotten how to greet a lady. Don’t you get enough chances in the capital?” David asked.  
Pendergast rolled his eye again. “David, if I kissed the princess’s hand every time I saw her, she’d have pruned fingers, and I’d never get any work done.”

David looked appalled. “You don’t kiss the fingers. …isn’t the princess a man-hating harridan anyway?”  
“Let’s not do this.” Alice said softly. “I only know hearsay about what happened to the princes—”  
“This is the perfect time, my apricot blossom. My cousin guards the royal family, he would know better than anyone here what happened.” David said to Alice, his voice becoming a good deal gentler as he cupped her face.

“Unfortunately, I am not at a liberty to discuss what happened to Merkimer and Guysbert.” Pendergast said. “All I can say is that Guysbert’s time of death was greatly exaggerated, and that Merkimer would be the first to tell you what happened to him was his own fault.”  
“ _Pendergast_ , how can you say that?” David said. “They are our betters.”  
“The man had sex with thirty walruses the night before he was supposed to get married.” Bean pointed out. “Who is he supposed to be better than?”

David’s eyes went wide. “I… you can’t be serious.”  
“About the walrus thing? Yeah, no, I was there.”  
“He means about saying Merkimer is not better than us. He has the divine right to rule in his blood. Nobility belonging to the nobility, after all.” Pendergast said, folding his hands behind his back. “…and they were manatees, not walruses.”  
Bean narrowed her eyes at him, before looking at David. “But you were just talking shit about the princess of _this_ country.”  
“She has a point. It isn’t very patriotic.” Pendergast added.

“It isn’t a matter of _patriotism_. It’s a matter of behavior.” David snapped. “And what is and is not proper for a woman.”  
“Okay, but the blood thing you mentioned—” Bean began.  
David made a slicing motion with his hand. “There is only so much that nobility for nobility’s sake can do. Pendergast, rheoli'ch menyw.”  
“Pe gallwn, byddwn.” Pendergast said lightly.

David pursed his lips. “I think you and I have very different definitions of what makes a good wife, cousin.”  
Alice pulled on his hand, and David sighed. “I’ll take my leave now.” He gently kissed Alice’s hand. “My dearest love, will you come with me?”  
“No thank you, I’d like to stay and talk for a bit longer.” Alice said softly.  
David nodded, and left.

Pendergast looked like he was grinding his teeth so hard he nearly cracked a tooth.  
“What’s with you?” Bean asked.  
“Rwy'n dy garu di fel hyn. Peidiwch â newid.” Pendergast blurted out, before clapping a hand over his mouth in horror.

“…okay, I’m going to guess that was a weird lying thing… what was that about?” Bean asked.  
He stared at her in horror for a minute, before backing away slowly.  
“Pendergast?” Bean tried.  
He turned and ran.  
“That was weird.” Bean muttered, before looking at Alice. “Uh… do you speak Welsh?”  
Alice smiled softly. “Sadly not. But… I admit, I wanted to talk to you. You seem… different to everyone here.”

“Different how?” Bean asked.  
Alice gestured at her. “Your clothes. You’re obviously more cosmopolitan than anyone here. …have they been kind to you?”  
“Of course, everyone’s been really nice.”  
Alice’s face fell. “Tr-truly?”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Bean asked, pulling Alice into the stables and sitting down on a bale of hay. Alice gathered her skirts and sat delicately as well, as opposed to Bean, legs splayed out and arms supporting her.  
Alice twisted her skirts—her fine, fine skirts—in her hands. “Sometimes, people can be a bit… cold to me, here. David is lovely, but his mother…”  
“I haven’t met his mother, but if that’s how David acts, no wonder you’re miserable.”  
“No, you misunderstand!” Alice said quickly. “He only knows what I’ve said, and I only know rumors in Bentwood. But… the royal family of Bentwood has been kind to my family. May I admit something?”

“Uh, sure go for it.”  
“My grandfather was a merchant.” Alice whispered. “My great-grandfather, a tanner. My family, we’re new money. My father _bought_ our title.”  
Bean watched her. “Okay? So?”  
Alice pursed her lips. “It _means_ something to the nobility. I don’t mean to pry, but I’m unsure if you would understand. New money is looked down upon. My blood isn’t noble.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Bean said. “You seem nice enough. The only people who care about that are people like… well, I guess not David, but his mom. What about Birdy, and Lynette?”  
Alice bit her lip. “Do you mean Blodeuwedd? She isn’t cruel to my face, but she’s… cold. Insular.”  
“What? That doesn’t sound like Birdy at all.”

Alice shrugged. “I don’t know why she doesn’t like me if it’s not that. I have tried to be kind to her, really! I… it was supposed to be nice, being around someone my own age.”  
“Have you confronted her about it?”  
“Oh, I could never do that!” Alice gasped. “That would be unladylike.”

“Yeah, but you’re miserable.” Bean pointed out. “If someone’s a dick, tell ‘em. Trust me, I call Pendergast out all the time when he’s being an asshole.”  
“You…” Alice stared at her. “But he’s… the Griffiths family is one of the oldest in Dreamland. Second only to the Grunkwitzes.”  
“Hmm, didn’t know that.” Bean swung her legs, wanting to get off of the subject of the Grunkwitzes immediately. “How’d you get in this situation, anyway?”  
Alice’s cheeks gently pinked. “A long family tree does not necessarily translate to great wealth. They are… relatively minor in Dreamland’s political scene, partially because they also guard the border. My father saw a chance for an advantageous marriage with multiple trade connections, and…” Alice shrugged again.

“Are you happy with that?” Bean asked. “It sounds kind of awful to me, marrying a stranger.”  
“But I’m not. I’m marrying David.” And here Alice gave a small, sweet smile, as if she was saving it for herself. “He’s… he’s opinionated about a lot of things. But he’s kind, really. He’s never looked down on me. He brings me fresh flowers everyday, and tries to interfere on my behalf when someone is overtly cruel. I think he’s just repeating things he’s learned here, from his mother and so on. Thomas says similar things, after all, about women, and I assume yours does too.”

“Whoa, Pendergast is not mine.” Bean said. “Let’s get that out of the way. Also, just because he’s not _too_ bad doesn’t mean he’s great.”  
“But he is.” And this was the only time Alice seemed to have certainty in her voice. “I love him, and I will not hear anything against him.”  
“ _That’s_ the energy you need to have when someone—Rhoswen—says shit to you.” Bean poked Alice in the shoulder.

“You’re on a first name basis with the Dowager Countess?” Alice gasped.  
“Who’s going to stop me?” Bean gave another poke. “Who’s going to stop _you_? Pen said she liked it when I stood up to her—maybe they’re all just waiting for you to do the same.”  
“…for someone you say isn’t yours, you gave him a nickname.” Alice said demurely.  
“I… he’s a friend.” Bean cleared her throat. It didn’t matter that Pendergast was hot, in a _purely_ abstract way. Like the grass was green or the sky was blue.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t _as much_ of a dick as she’d thought—or that it kind of seemed like it was baked into guys here. It also really didn’t matter that she liked his voice, and being around him (when he was being kind of cool) or cuddling with him. Friends can enjoy the scent of other friends’ skin, right? Listening to their heartbeat? Feeling their skin against your own? Those were all friendship things, Bean was pretty sure, despite having made her first friends at 19 and having done none of that stuff with them.

“Oh. It’s just that he told you he loved you before running off.” Alice crossed her ankles prettily. Bean was beginning to get the impression that this girl had only been trained to make pretty, demure, and delicate movements. Like a doll.  
“I… what?”  
“I don’t know much Welsh, but David did teach me that phrase. Rwy'n dy garu di. It means ‘I love you’.”  
“He said other stuff too. He was probably saying ‘I _don’t_ love you’ or something.” Bean said, feeling the hay between her fingers.

Alice watched her hands. “Pardon me, Madam Bean, but it seems like you’re grasping at straws.” She giggled to herself. It was, of course, ladylike and gentle, but it was also wholly genuine.  
“…okay, yeah, I deserved that.” Bean cracked a grin. “You can just call me Bean, y’know.”  
“And I am simply Alice.” Alice beamed. “I’m not usually _simply Alice_. Thank you.”

“Your life seems kind of sad.”  
“No more so than other lives. I’m very lucky.” Alice said.  
“What do you want? Out of life?” Bean asked.  
Alice paused. “I… no one’s ever asked me that.”

“I’m asking now. What do _you_ want?”  
“…I want… David.” Alice said tentatively, then looked at Bean, who nodded to encourage her to continue. “I want… to live to an old age, and have good children. I want… to travel, and see more of the world.”  
“There you go!” Bean said.  
“And I want a smaller, quieter wedding!” Alice suddenly blurted out, before covering her mouth with her hand, as if to force the words back in. She almost mirrored Pendergast, though of course far more delicate.

“Hey, don’t run off on me.” Bean said reflexively. “That sounds great, why are you having this big thing anyway?”  
“As a daughter of—”  
“No, why are _you_ , Alice, not Lady Broderick, having this wedding?” Bean asked.  
Alice bit her lip. “It’s what’s expected of us. David isn’t necessarily pleased with it either—he also wanted us to have a small wedding and go traveling. We talked about it—dreamed about it. Can I admit something, Bean?”

“Shoot.”  
“I don’t have _any_ say in this wedding.” Alice said. “I _hate_ some of the choices—mostly the ones my cousin Ermentrude made. She’s a widow, so she lives with us, and Mother says we have to be nice to her. She’s _awful_.”  
“Stand up to her!” Bean urged. “Where is she? I’ll do it for you.”  
“Oh, no, please don’t. She’ll only be worse if you do it for me.” Alice grabbed Bean’s arm.

“What’s she done, anyway?” Bean asked.  
“She is vicious with her verbal attacks.” Alice shuddered. “She’s reduced me to tears on more than one occasion, and she’s jealous whenever anyone pays me any mind instead of her. She makes everything about her. Even my wedding is meant to be an excuse for her to find a new husband, not that her voice matters less than _mine_ when doing wedding planning.”

“She _sucks_.” Bean said.  
Alice nodded. “I don’t even _like_ the colour cream, it washes me out. But no, cream looks good on _Ermentrude_ , so _my_ wedding dress is cream-coloured!”  
“Fuck that!” Bean said, having understood about three words in ten. “Rip that dress up!”  
“Ye— _oh no_.” Alice said. “I couldn’t. It was very expensive silk. A lot of time and effort went into it.”  
“Okay, we’ll save the anarchy for later.” Bean patted Alice on the shoulder. “If you want, I can help you with Birdy. I won’t even say anything, I’ll just be there for support.”

“…okay.” Alice said softly.  
“Great! Do you know where she is?”  
“She’ll probably be running errands for the Dowager Countess soon.” Alice said, standing up and brushing herself off. Bean followed her out of the stables—and sure enough, there was Blodeuwedd arguing with a man with dirty hands.

“—supposed to be delivered today!” Blodeuwedd threw her hands in the air.  
“I went to the drop-off point, and there weren’t nothing there!” The man replied angrily. “What do you want me to do, you jumped up child? Conjure them out of thin air?”  
Blodeuwedd rubbed her temples. “We’re running behind _schedule_ , and Lady Ermentrude is going to bitch at me.”  
“I can’t imagine what it’s like, havin’ a ladyship bitch at you.” The man scoffed.

“I’m going to have to tell Granny.”  
“Go ahead—I’ll tell ‘er what I told you. I can’t pick up what isn’t there, any more than you can make yourself a decent lady and not a nagging bitch.”  
“You’re a horrible old man.”  
“Eh, I’ve heard it from worse than you.” The man spat at Blodeuwedd’s feet, and walked off.

“Maybe we should come back later.” Alice said.  
“No, now’s good.” Bean grabbed Alice by the shoulders and steered her towards Blodeuwedd. “Hi, Birdy, what’s up?”  
Blodeuwedd looked up, and smiled. “Hi Bean.” Her smile dropped slightly. “Hello, Lady Broderick.”  
“Be nice.” Bean said. “What was all that about anyway?”

“Granny trusted me with one aspect of the planning. I had everything planned out—and to save money, I accidentally hired the surliest, meanest carter in Dreamland. He won’t _listen_ to anything I say!”  
“That sounds—” Alice tried.  
“That’s nice, Lady Broderick.” Blodeuwedd said dismissively.  
Bean scowled. “Birdy, can I talk to you over here for a minute?”

“Of course, Bean.”  
Bean pulled Blodeuwedd over to a more isolated corner of the courtyard. “Why are you being like this to Alice?”  
“ _Alice_?” Blodeuwedd raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were friends with _her_.”  
“Why aren’t you? Is it because her grandfather was a merchant?”  
“What? No, of course not.” Blodeuwedd said. “ _Alice_ is just one of _those_ girls, you know? The ones that are all _pretty_ and _poised_ and laugh at girls like us for not being like them. They don’t like girls like us.”

“Birdy, you’re sounding _really_ judgy right now.” Bean said. “Oh my God, I sound like a real adult. Anyway, my point is, Alice is a nice kid. You’re a nice kid. And I guess you should at least try to be nice to her. She doesn’t have _any_ friends her own age or gender. I don’t think you do either, and I’m leaving in a week. At least give her a chance before writing her off, otherwise you’re just as mean as you say she is.”

“…fine.” Blodeuwedd said. They returned to Alice, whose face lit up. “Hello, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”  
“Sorry about that.” Bean said. “Hey, Alice, do you have any idea how to deal with Birdy’s problem?”  
“What are you trying to have delivered?” Alice asked.

“Um… roses. From Bentwood. And Dankmirian orchids, because Granny is only giving me so much control.” Blodeuwedd said, glancing at Bean.  
Bean nodded encouragingly.  
Alice nodded as well, but more understandingly. “I see why you’re so intent on having them delivered at certain times, then. Both are very delicate.”

Blodeuwedd relaxed slightly. “Yeah. They are—I know it’s your wedding, but I just wanted to prove myself. Um. Sorry I didn’t ask.”  
Alice looked surprised. “Don’t be. No one else is. …and I love flowers, I was hoping to start a garden here.”  
“David didn’t show you the garden?” Blodeuwedd asked.

Alice did the slight-blush again. “He said that it was your mother’s domain, and that we shouldn’t bother her.”  
Blodeuwedd crossed her arms. “Yeah, that’s Auntie Hannah coming through him. Mum’d be happy to let you have a bit of her garden for flowers. …orchids might need a lot of water though.”  
“I know, I was maybe hoping that I could keep a specimen for myself in a pot…?” Alice said softly. “I understand if you don’t want me to! I wouldn’t want to impose!”

“Hey, no.” Bean said. “You deserve to be happy.”  
“I deserve to be happy…” Alice repeated quietly, before drawing herself up to her full height. Blodeuwedd tensed in expectation.  
“I would like an orchid, if there are any left. And-and, if possible, I would like ivy to be included with the flowers. Please. I know you have vines in your house sigil, and I think it would be a nice way to include that aspect, as well as beautiful.” Alice said, her voice wavering slightly even as she tried to be firm. She glanced at Bean for approval. “Please.”

Blodeuwedd cocked her head, looking thoughtful. “That’s…. actually a really good idea. Definitely cheaper than Dankmire roses. And if they ever get here, of course you can have one. I mean, it’s your wedding, and I didn’t really get you a gift.”  
“That’s okay!” Alice said, a bit too quickly. She took a step forward, and Blodeuwedd raised an eyebrow.  
Alice stepped back, and cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her. “Don’t worry, Mademoiselle Blodeuwedd. I do not hold it against you.”

Blodeuwedd’s neutral expression changed into a scowl. “You almost had a real emotion there.”  
“Hey—” Bean tried to interrupt.  
Alice took a deep breath, and replied. “My apologies for speaking over you Bean, but I recall you saying this is my battle to fight. Mademoiselle Blodeuwedd, I _am_ real. I want to be friends with you. I don’t want to be here alone with only David for company. But if you don’t like me, then I’m not going to chase after you for respect that I have done nothing to lose.”

“Why do you call me _Mademoiselle_ then, _Lady Broderick_?” Blodeuwedd snapped.  
“Because I’m trying to give you respect! You never said I could call you anything else, and I don’t want to make assumptions!” Alice sounded like she was about to cry.  
“ _Assumptions_? When the alternative is that you fold up into yourself like a cold bitch? I’d prefer them! Those _assumptions_ feel more real!”

Okay, so most of Bean’s experience with breaking up fights was Elfo and Luci, which was completely different. “Guys! Come on!” She couldn’t really pull them apart since they weren’t touching in the first place.  
“All I’m doing is trying to be nice! Why are you so _cruel_?” Alice was definitely crying now.  
“Because you’re so _fake_!” Blodeuwedd crossed her arms.  
“I’m _real_ , I promise! I-I just… it’s instinct, you know? When-when we were back home, I h-had to be polite and nice and I don’t know why you don’t like me for that?”

“Oh, _spare_ me your crocodile tears!” Blodeuwedd snapped, before turning to Bean. “See how manipulative she is?!”  
“No.” Bean crossed her arms. “C’mon, Birdy. She’s a good kid, and so are you. Not everyone’s built like us—not everyone says no, okay? Like your brother. He’s all about duty too—even if it fucks him over. Is he fake?”  
“…ugh, fine.” Blodeuwedd said. “You get one more chance. But _don’t_ try and shut down and _placate_ me by being a perfect doll again. Call me Blodeuwedd, or Birdy if you want.”  
“And I’m Alice. Thank you.” Alice smiled through her tears.

“You can stop crying now.” Bean pointed out.  
“Not really, I can’t once I get going.” Alice burbled. “And anyway, they’re happy tears now. May-may I have a hug? Please?”  
“Of course.” Bean hugged Alice, then gestured to Blodeuwedd behind Alice’s back. Hesitantly, Birdy joined them.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendergast, rheoli'ch menyw. -- Pendergast, control your woman.  
> Pe gallwn, byddwn. -- If I could, I would.  
> Rwy'n dy garu di fel hyn. Peidiwch â newid. -- I love you the way you are. Don't change.


	9. Searching for panties on someone's body in the dark is platonic, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is smut in this chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, skip from, _"Legs apart," he ordered._ to _"Pendergast." She nearly sobbed._
> 
> I'm just now realizing the context for those being the opening and closing lines sounds bad. It's not bad, I promise!

You may recall how Pendergast dashed away in the last chapter after accidentally confessing his love. In the end, Bean didn’t see him again until dinner, whereupon she was sitting with Alice and Blodeuwedd, who were chatting softly about plants, and he was seated with Thomas and David. It was almost like he was _avoiding_ her or something. But that would mean Alice was right, and that Pendergast loved—no, was _in_ love with her—and that was just absurd. If there were _feelings_ , then everything would change.

He walked into their bedroom when Bean was rifling through what she’d brought.   
“Can I help you find something?”   
“Oh, you’re talking to me again? What was that—you can’t just run off on me.” Bean huffed. He didn’t love her. Because, and this was crucial, Bean was kind of convinced she was cursed. If someone said they loved her, they left her all alone. That’s what her father did. That’s what her mother did. And if Pendergast was professing his love, then he was very much falling into that pattern.

“I’m sorry. I… have no excuse.”   
Bean turned to look at him. “What if I want one anyway?” Pendergast backed up slightly, and she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t run from me. Aren’t you supposed to be brave?”   
“I am brave.” Pendergast snapped. “Last I checked, you weren’t something I had to defeat.”   
“Good, ‘cause we both know I’d kick your ass.” Bean scoffed.   
“Oh really?”

“Really.”   
And then suddenly her legs were knocked out from under her, and she was in his arms—and then he tossed her on the bed. His arms came down on either side of her, essentially locking her in place, and he was smirking down at her. “Point me, then?”   
“I could kick you.” Thankfully, her voice didn’t waver. Stupid sexy Pendergast getting in her space.  
“You could. But then again, you just told me that, so I obviously have time to prepare myself.”

Bean licked her lips. Was he going to…? And then just as quickly as he’d moved towards her, he was standing straight and moving back again, blushing slightly. Always with that fucking blush. “What were you looking for?”   
“My nightgown. I think I forgot it.”   
Pendergast stared at her. “R-really?”

She sat up, curling her legs underneath her. “You’re free to check.”   
“What are you going to do?” Pendergast asked after clearing his throat.   
Bean shrugged. “I could just sleep naked.”   
Pendergast’s eye widened. “I-I… here.” He took off his shirt and threw it at her.

“What a normal response.” Bean said, holding it close. It was hers now. Pendergast walking around shirtless was by no means a bad thing— _but like, as a friend_. Friends wore each other’s clothes, right? Like that time that she dressed Jerry up in the robes her mom gave her. Friends also gave friends’ shirts a little secret sniff, just to make sure it smelled right. And it did. It made heat pool in her stomach and it made her _hungry_ in a way that had nothing to do with food.

“I’ll blow out the candle so you can change without your honor being compromised.” Pendergast said.   
“What about you? Are you going to sleep in your trousers?” Bean wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to see him shirtless—why were there so many scars? Jesus.   
“I… well, I _was_ …”   
“It’s going to be hot though, under the covers. And I’m going to be cuddled up to you either way. It’ll just make it hotter.”

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to cuddle up to me.”   
“No, I’m gonna. I like cuddling with you.”   
Pendergast blew out the candle in response. She heard the rustle of clothing—not her own, even though she was undressing, and felt the bed move. She pulled his shirt over her head, and joined him under the covers, tangling her legs with his.

“You’re not wearing trousers.” She said, unable to sound _cool_ and _detached_ about it. Okay, yes, she sounded a bit giddy but sue her. She had never been this _close_ to another human body before like this. Sven didn’t count, not really. Not like this. Last night didn’t count either, they had all their clothes on then.   
“No need to accuse me of impropriety. I still have my brailles on, just as you…” His hand moved up her thigh, clearly searching for something.   
“I’m only wearing your shirt.”   
His hand jerked back as if scalded. “I… sorry.”   
She pulled his hand back. “You can’t run if you’re tangled up in me.”

He laughed. “I guess.”   
Bean laid her head on Pendergast’s shoulder, trying to match her heartbeat to his. Why was hers beating faster—just because he’d laughed again? Stupid. “So, why’d you run?”   
“Inconvenient feelings.”   
“You know you can talk to me.”

“Let me rephrase that. Inconvenient feelings about _you_.”   
“Oh, now you definitely have to tell me.”   
“Nope.”   
“C’mon, Pen.”   
His free hand carded through her hair. “I think you can guess. And this—this shouldn’t be happening. We shouldn’t be in bed together, with you only wearing my shirt-- roedd hynny'n wirion ohonof…”  
“Why? We’re just friends.” There. If she could speak it into existence, it would be real. True. He wouldn’t leave if he didn’t love her.

“Are you sure?” He said softly.   
“Just friends.” Bean repeated, just as softly.   
“…alright. That’s for the best. Do-do you want me to stop touching you?”   
“Why would I?” What was so hard about _just friends_ for him to get? She didn’t want things to _change_ about any of this—unless it kept changing for the better. That was okay.

“Because you’re tempting as it is, and I am a rake in bed with an innocent maiden—” He tried to move his hand from her leg again, and she moved it back down.   
“Oh my God, _shut up_. You sound like your cousin.” Bean snickered.   
“You are the _worst_.” Pendergast said, though he was obviously stifling laughter as well. She could feel it shaking within him. Shame—he had a stupid cute laugh, when it wasn’t about fucking her over.   
“You know you love me.”

And that easy air shattered. Pendergast paused.   
“I didn’t mean it.” Bean said, rushing to fill the silence before he could say anything. He couldn’t.   
“I know.” He sounded tired. No—this was for the best. Why couldn’t he see that?   
“I don’t love you.” She rushed out as well, because she needed things to go back to normal. Their new normal. Cool Pendergast. Sweet Pendergast. Her Pendergast, not her father’s.   
“I know.” He repeated. He moved his hand again, and she didn’t stop him.

She did cling to him though. His other hand stayed in her hair, gently playing with it.   
“Were you lying earlier, when you said all that stuff about my laugh?” Bean finally asked.   
“No. You’d know if I had been.”   
“Do you still feel the same way about it?”   
“Of course. I always will.”

“Always have?”   
“God, no. …only in the last year or so.” Pendergast admitted. “I think. I never gave it much thought until I was alone with you these last few days.”   
“I had a crush on you when I was fourteen.” Bean admitted. “Before you went off to war.”   
“Hmm. Well, as a seventeen year old, I had no interest in a fourteen year old. As a twenty-two year old, however, I might have interest in a nineteen year old.”

“Don’t.” Bean’s voice cracked. “ _Don’t_.”   
“I’m just being honest.” Pendergast said softly. “Just as you were a few minutes ago.”   
_Was_ she being honest? …yes. Of course. “I don’t want to hear you say it.”   
She could forget. Convince herself that he meant someone else—and that made the heat flare up in her again, but not in the good way like before.   
“Not even for the sake of clearing the air?”

“Push it down.” She realized she was practically begging him. “I don’t—don’t you _dare_ tell me. Please.”   
It was the ‘please’ that caught his attention, even if it was all on her anyway. At the ‘please’, his hand stopped moving in her hair. “Don’t change anything.” She whispered. “I like it like this.”   
“All I want is for you to be happy.”   
“That’s not pushing it down.”

He sighed. “I’ll do my best.”   
She nodded, and wrapped herself back around him.   
He pushed her away gently. “No.”   
“Wh—why? Because I won’t sleep with you?”

“Because I have a heart too, goddammit! I can’t just be at your beck and call, and let myself fall further— let myself get hurt just because you crook your finger. If you want to be _friends_ then I need to ask you to _act_ like a friend. Only a friend. I can’t push it down if you’re half-riding me.”   
“Why can’t we be friends who cuddle?” Bean demanded.

“Because then I want to be friends who _kiss_. Friends who do more than kiss. And then we come perilously close to me dishonoring—”   
She straddled him, which cut him off.   
“Princess, get _off_ of me.” He sounded so close to growling. She wanted to hear that growl.  
“We can be friends who kiss.” She adjusted her seat.

“That’s _not_ what I meant when I said get off and you know it.” He groaned. She was beginning to feel something kept only from her by that thin layer of cloth he was wearing. _Oh._ Oh yes, that was _very_ interesting indeed.   
“We can be friends who do more.” She nearly whispered.  
“What happened to me being an asshole to you simply because you wouldn’t indulge my base, carnal lusts?”   
“What if I have ‘base, carnal lusts’?”

“Get off of me before I throw you off.” Pendergast snarled.   
“Try it.” She tried to lock her legs around his waist.   
He grabbed her waist, and she landed squarely on the far side of the bed. Fuck, he was strong. That should _not_ be turning her on right now.

“I don’t care if everyone in the kingdom talks shit about us, I’m not going to stay here and have you tease me like this.” Pendergast huffed.   
“I wasn’t teasing! I was serious!” Bean protested, feeling the bed move as he got up.   
“And then what? Were you hoping all my blood would flow from my brain to my cock so that I would just _forget_ that you were using me again, after I specifically asked you to let it be? You have to _pick_ one. I can be your friend, or I can be your lover. _Or_ , I can go back to being a stock villain for you. Not both, or God forbid, all three. I’m not a _toy_ for you, princess.” This was all punctuated by the rustle of clothing—he was putting his trousers back on.

“Bean.” She corrected softly.   
“ _No_ , Tiabeanie. No. No more _intimacy_ between us. I’m shutting it down now. At the end of this week, everything is going to go back to normal. Just like you want.”   
“Wait, I… stay? Please?” No no no no no. He wasn’t supposed to leave. This was all to make him stay anyway.   
“ _Why_?” Pendergast demanded. “What _possible_ reason could you have to want me to stay?!”

“I don’t want to be alone!” She snapped.   
“It’s a castle full of people. I’m sure you’ll find someone.” She could practically _hear_ the sneer in his voice. Asshole. But, that also meant she could find him in the dark. He was strong, but she was fast. In a flash, she was out of the bed, and holding onto him. “I don’t want them. I want you. So what if I don’t love you? I still _want_ you near me. Isn’t that enough?”   
“Your _wants_ will be the death of us both.” Pendergast snapped. “You never _think_ about the consequences! You never think about anyone but yourself!”

“Well, lately I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and look how that’s turned out!”   
“You were the one who forced me to admit that I love you! You _know_ I can’t lie, and you still asked! You’re the one who climbed on top of me when I said that I would respect your desire to be friends! What do you _want_ from me, Tiabeanie?! Just _tell_ me!”   
“I want you to stay. I want you to keep being this new Pendergast, and not the asshole you are back home. I don’t want you to leave like everyone else. I-I want to keep feeling _safe_ with you, and like someone cares!”

“Of course I care! That’s the whole fucking problem!” He hissed, before he did something very unexpected. He pulled her into a rough kiss.   
His teeth clashed against her lips, her tongue, and for a second she nearly thought he was going to draw blood. She wanted him to. She kissed back, of course, and he growled into her mouth. One hand cupped her cheek, the other tangled in her hair and _pulled_ slightly, bringing her ever closer. _Yes_ , finally. Her arms snaked up to pull him closer, and the hand cupping her face moved down to her waist. She was dimly aware that his shirt was riding up a bit, and then she realized that he must have noticed as well.

He pulled away.   
“Why’d you stop?” She asked.   
“ _Tease_.” He insisted. “You really want to do this with no emotional connections?”   
She nodded, then remembered it was dark. “Yeah.”   
“I’m not sure if I can.” He admitted.   
She licked her lips. “We don’t have to.”

“Oh no no no. I want to. But you’ll have to accept that I won’t be able to stop loving you.”   
“Stay.” She said as an answer.   
He picked her up bridal style again. “We’ve been talking a lot about what you want. Do you know what _I_ want, princess?”   
“To call me princess, I’m guessing.” She landed on the bed again, and he was once again more or less pinning her without touching her. This time he wasn’t going to back off.

“I want to fuck you into this mattress. I want your nails gouging into my back as you _scream_ my name. I want to feel you around me, hot and wet and _tight_. I want you to _beg_ me to fuck you because you need it just as badly as I do. I want to make you cum. Over and over and over again, until you’re a shuddering wreck from it all in the best possible way. I want to taste you—see if you taste as good as you smell. I definitely want you to try and _taste_ me the same way. I want to leave bite marks all over your body, and make you _mine_ , princess. I want you to ride me. I want to pin you down, and I definitely want to hear your gratitude. I want to bury myself in you, and _spill_.”

Heat flared in her again. “Okay.”   
“ _Really_?” He sounded more surprised than anything. She moved a leg up, and hooked it around him, bringing him closer. “Yeah, really. As rough as you want.”   
“You… do realize I’m stronger than you?”   
“Mm-hmm. Counting on it. I like it rough too.”

He suddenly moved back, and she made a confused sound.   
“Legs apart.” He ordered.   
She complied, expecting him to enter immediately. He didn’t—at least, not with his cock. He trailed kisses up her thigh, before meeting her.

“I- _ah_ —I thought this was going to be rough.” Bean said as his tongue swirled around her clit.   
“Rough, not painful. It’s no good for either of us if you’re dry.”   
“I’m _not_.”   
Pendergast’s tongue dipped down, and he gave a hum of pleasure. “No, you’re right. You’re not. But I’m not done yet—unless you want me to stop?”

“No!” She said a bit too forcefully.   
He gave her clit more attention, and then he was opening her more fully, exploring her with his tongue. Her hands tangled in his hair, and his hands clamped down on her legs in response. Occasionally, he’d return to her clit, but his main focus was a bit further south.   
“ _Pen_.”   
He nipped at her thigh. “Princess? Why are you trying to distract me?”

“Fuck me.”   
“Mm… but you taste even better than you smell.” He nipped at her other thigh, and she shivered. “Convince me, princess.”   
“Fuck me, _please_.” She begged. “Please, I need it. I need _you_. Please fuck me.”

“I don’t know if you’re _sure_.”   
“Pendergast, stop teasing and fuck me!”   
“You _really_ want it?” She could hear the smile in his voice. Bastard.   
“ _Yes_!”

And then he was inside her, white hot heat and she had never felt so _full_. She shifted, and he went deeper. Bean stifled a moan.   
“Ah ah ah, princess. I said I wanted to hear you.”

“Don’t stop.” She begged, wrapping her arms and legs around him. His hands met her hips, and pulled her ever closer as he began to thrust—hard and fast.   
“I have no intention of stopping here.” Pendergast muttered into her ear, before biting the lobe.   
She didn’t hold back the moan that time.

“Good girl.” Pendergast purred in Bean’s ear, before gently scraping his teeth over the same lobe. When that didn’t get the response he wanted, he trailed alternating kisses and bites down her neck, mixing up the pattern to keep her surprised. All the while, thrusting hard and fast and she needed _more_. Her nails scratched up his back, trying to bring him ever closer. He groaned, and it went right to her core.

“Good boy.” Bean purred, mimicking him, before beginning to bite as well.   
“ _Yes_ …” Pendergast gasped, his hands moving as he leaned back. He still managed to keep them _together_ though, so she wasn’t exactly complaining. One traveled up under his shirt to squeeze and play with her breast, the other cupped her face for a moment before tangling in her hair and _pulling_.   
“P- _Pen_ …”   
“More.” He ground out.

She was beginning to ramble. “Pen, my Pen, my knight, my good knight, _ah_ … don’t stop don’t stop _don’t stop_.”   
He put her ankles on his shoulders. “I won’t.”   
Fuck, he went _deep_. Deeper than she had thought he could go. She bit her lip.

“I’m not hearing anything, princess.”   
“Fuck, Pen, so good. Feel so good…” She said, grasping at him. He pinned her wrists down with one hand, holding her in place with the other.   
She whined and writhed against him.   
“Good girl.”   
“ _Pen_ …” She came. Of course she came, hot and wet and tight just like he’d said he wanted. He wasn’t done with her yet though. He let her put her legs down, pulling her close again so that he could touch her properly. Bite her properly.

“Do you want to take over, princess?”   
She whined as a response. “Don’t _stop_.” Words were a bit hard at the moment.   
He laughed. “Next time, then?”   
“ _Yes_.” Anything he wanted, just so long as he _kept going_.  
He pinched her nipple, and she arched against him.

“Scream for me, princess. Say my name, and I’ll let you come again.”   
“L- _let_?”   
He bit around her collarbone, and hummed into her skin. “Let.”   
“ _Ah_ … Pen…”   
“Not good enough. Louder, princess. Don’t you want to show me your _gratitude_?” He nipped at her other ear lobe.

Oh, _that_ was what he wanted. “Feels so good. My knight, my Pen, my good knight…” He started moving faster. She started rambling more.   
“ _Fuck_ yes, more, please Pen please…”   
“You know what I want, princess. And unless I get it, I’ll go a lot slower…”   
“ _No_.” She hissed, pushing herself (and him, by extension) into a seated position where she was still in his lap. “More, Pen, _please_ , I’m so close…”   
“Mm… but only good girls get to cum…” He tried to sound disaffected, but she could _hear_ that shudder in his voice. He was close too. “Are you a good girl, princess?”

“ _Yes_.”   
“Good girls remember who they’re fucking.”   
“P-Pen…”   
“Mm… my name’s a bit longer than that, _Tiabeanie_ …” Damn him, how was he still able to keep control? Stupid sexy Pendergast.

It finally came out as she crossed the threshold. “ _Pendergast_.” She nearly sobbed.   
They collapsed together.   
“So, enjoy yourself?” He asked, back to gently running a hand through her hair.   
She leaned on him. “Nah, I was only doing all that to stroke your ego.”

He laughed, tracing patterns into her hair. “ _Sure_. So… what happens now?”   
“Why does anything have to happen?”   
“I just took your virginity.”   
“Nah, I lost that a while ago.”   
“…if I may ask, to who?”

She snuggled up against him. “That Viking I dropped out of a hole in the floor. S’better this way. No pain for us.”   
“…speaking of pain… you were willing to do this with me, but I can’t say--?”   
“No. You can’t.” Bean cut him off quickly, clinging tighter to him. “Anything else, but not that.”   
“So you’ll let me show it, and make it to you, but I can’t say it.” Pendergast said slowly.   
“Yeah, you get it.”

“I really don’t. …can I say it in Welsh?”   
“No.”   
“Pet names?” Pendergast tried.   
Bean laughed. “Only if I get to give you ones too. And if I don’t like yours, I will be insufferable.”   
“You’re already insufferable.”   
“Strong words from the guy who I let fuck me.”   
“ _Let_? As I recall, you begged me.”

“’Cause you wanted me to.”   
Pendergast’s hand in her hair slowed. “Bean. Tiabeanie. You did _want_ to do what we did, right?”   
“Yeah, of course. I was just talking about the begging thing.” Bean said, tangling her legs with his.   
She felt him relax. “I didn’t know you listened to me that much, especially when I was simply lustfully rambling at you.”   
“You do know I like you, right?”

“I assumed, given that I was buried between your legs at your request.” Pendergast said, amused.   
Bean made a face at him, fully aware that he couldn’t really see in the dark. “As a person. If you’re not being a dick, I’ll listen to what you have to say. And that… was worth listening to.” She traced patterns gently into his chest, fingers running up against old faded scars that she had seen in the candlelight.

“…okay.” He said softly. “Okay, I think I can live with that, fy ngalon.”   
“What’s that one mean?”   
“You wouldn’t like it.”   
“I’ll ask Blodeuwedd.”   
“Oh, good, involve her.” Pendergast said drily. “My sister has had too much involvement in this anyway.”   
“Be nice.” Bean yawned.

“For you, fy nhrysor, I would do anything.”   
“I like that one.”   
“I’ll keep it in rotation. …can we keep talking about what _this_ is in the morning?”   
“It doesn’t have to be _anything_.” Bean pointed out.   
“So we’re stopping it?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Bean huffed into his shoulder, before making herself comfortable.   
“This is why I want to talk to you about it.” Pendergast said. “When we’re both a bit more… clothed. And well-rested. It’s been a long day.”   
“Mm…” Bean replied, already falling asleep. “It’s nicer listening to your voice when I’m trying to sleep than my mom’s.”   
“Cysgu'n dda, fy nhywysoges.” Pendergast said softly, still running a hand through her hair.

“Good night, Pendergast.” Bean said, somehow managing to sound both sleepy and sly at the same time. This statement was punctuated by her shifting so as to be as close to him as physically possible without him being inside her.   
“Insufferable woman.” Pendergast said fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.   
“Jerkface.”   
“Brat.”   
“Dork.”   
“Your dork, princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> roedd hynny'n wirion ohonof -- that was silly of me   
> Fy ngalon -- my heart   
> Fy nhrysor -- my treasure  
> Cysgu'n dda, fy nhywysoges. -- Sleep well, princess.


	10. Oh boy

Bean woke up to sunlight streaming into the room, and crinkled her nose in annoyance. She subsequently tried to bury her head in Pendergast’s arm—except he was awake. Kind of.  
“You know, you could at least say ‘good morning’.” He muttered into her hair.  
“Noooo, let’s go back to sleep.”  
“You’re a terrible influence.”  
“And you’re warm.” Bean argued groggily. “And good at cuddling.”  
“You’re going to put my arm to sleep, fy nhrysor.”  
“Good. The rest of you should be asleep too.”

“ _Or_ we could talk about last night.” Pendergast said slowly.  
It was different in the day, where she could see every aching detail of his face. Watch him watch her.  
“I…” Bean began, before she bolted. She threw his shirt at him, and dressed as quickly as possible.  
“Bean!” He called after her, having dressed almost as quickly. She hopped around in the hall for a minute, pulling on her boots, and ran.

Admittedly, she didn’t know exactly where she was going. Caer Griffiths was nowhere near as big as Dreamland’s Castle, but it had a different layout. It was still big _enough_. Of course, she ran into a Griffiths. They were fucking _everywhere_.

This one was a tall, thin man with graying hair, and much colder brown eyes than Pendergast or even Rhoswen, who sneered down at her. “And who might _you_ be?”  
She could distantly hear an echo of Pendergast calling for her. “Bean. I’m Bean.”  
The man rolled his eyes. In a weird, terrible but kind of comforting way, he reminded her of Odval. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

“I… guess?”  
The man pointed down a passageway she hadn’t seen before. “I wouldn’t trust Lynette to hide you, but Thomas might.”  
“And Thomas is…?” She meant in terms of where Thomas _was_ , but she hadn’t really met the guy either.  
“Did he abscond with you in the dead of night?” The man snapped. “Thomas is his brother. Usually in the stables around this time of day.”

“Cool, thanks.” Bean said, before going down the passageway. She could kind of hear talking between Pendergast and his uncle, and stopped. Her footfalls wouldn’t give her away _this_ time, Pendergast.  
“Uncle, did you see—”  
“You know, I had thought that your brother would be the one to follow in Arwel’s footsteps and become a drunken lout.” The uncle said drily.

“I… what are you talking about?”  
“Do not play dumb with me, boy. What else would make a woman _run_ from you like that? You are your father’s son—thankfully this one seems to have a bit more sense than that gold-digging slut my brother married.”  
“Don’t drag Mum into this.” Pendergast snapped. “…did she say anything?”

“No, your captive was rather out of breath from running away from you.”  
“You really don’t understand. I never—I thought—”  
“You thought she welcomed your attentions?” Bean could practically hear the sneer in not-Odval Griffiths voice. “I’m sure you told yourself that. You’re not the first man I’ve encountered who has justified himself thusly.”

“I would _never_.” Pendergast spat.  
“Well, clearly you were trying to do something she didn’t like. She wasn’t laughing as she ran into me, her eyes were wild and scared. What did you _do_ , thoughtless boy? I won’t cover your crimes, even if you are my nephew, even if she’s the lowest shepherdess you brought into my home.”  
“You covered Arwel’s.”  
“Yes, and look what that got me. Two louts, an empty-headed chit who distracts my daughter with her rambling, and a sister-in-law who I am now responsible for.” The uncle said acidly.  
“I… I asked. She said she… I would _never_.”  
“You still scared her, Pendergast. I suggest you let her run. After all, she doesn’t want to stay near you.”

“I… she _begged_ me to stay with her.”  
“The _lies_ that you children come up with!” The uncle scoffed. “Let her be. If what you’re saying is somehow correct, I’m sure that she’ll come back to you. Women are fickle creatures after all. Lynette never spoke a word of Arwel’s crimes.”  
“Neither did you.”  
“Neither did _you_.” The uncle repeated. “I will only act if things are brought to light publically, so I suggest you refrain from chasing this woman hither and yon like a beast. And if you _dare_ sully our family name with this, I’ll execute you myself.”

“Where is she? I need to apologize.”  
“No, what you need to do is go to the chapel and pray for _God_ to forgive you.” The uncle snapped. “Hole yourself up, and maybe some sort of _honorable_ behavior will eventually come to you with the grace of the Church. You’re a knight. Figure it out.” Bean heard footsteps coming, and flattened herself against the wall. She also heard footsteps receding.

“He’s gone now.” Oh, good, she was stuck down here with Uncle Odval.  
“I… he didn’t hurt me.” Bean said. “He’s a good guy. We’re friends.”  
The man kept his cold eyes on her. “Clearly.” Then he paused. “What is it you want, girl? Money? Are you carrying my nephew’s bastard?”  
“No!” Bean said vehemently. “I just… I just want everything to stay the same.”

The man scoffed. “I was wrong. You _should_ go see Lynette. The fickleness of women… cause a scene, and I swear, I’ll have you horsewhipped and sent off back to whatever hamlet you came from.”  
“You don’t care about me, you were just using me to be cruel to Pen!”  
“I am not _obligated_ to care about you. You were fool enough to spread your legs for my nephew—that was your own problem. But you’re mistaken. I don’t care about him either. I feel nothing about him, except a perpetual sense of annoyance that he is so worthless.”

“How can you say that?!” Bean snapped.  
“How can you lecture me about being cruel to him as a result of your own cruel actions?” The man asked calmly.  
“I… wasn’t…”  
“He seemed quite worried about you. Am I assume this wasn’t about a hunter stalking his prey? Did you perhaps steal his purse and seduce him along the way?”  
“I never took his money.” Bean growled. “I’m not a whore.”  
“Are you his wife? No? Then yes, you are. I am quite finished with your petty dramas. The next time I see you in my castle, I will drive you out myself. Especially if you’re causing a scene like this one. Either you will behave and keep your head down, or I will show you how _cruel_ I can be.”

“Bastard.” Bean spat.  
“If you wish to _decline_ my kindness, you’re free to leave at any time. It’s not as though I will be seeking you out in the crowd—I’m not a fan of impoverished, stupid maids who dress like men, unlike my nephew. Talk back to me again, and I will see that you learn your place.”

Bean swallowed. She wasn’t a princess here. Pendergast couldn’t save her right now, and she was up against a wall in unfamiliar terrain. Alone. With this awful man, who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her if she said the wrong thing. And there was no _right_ thing for her to hit upon because someone else had tried something, and no Elfo or Luci to back her up. _Oh_. It clicked for her that a lot of people _didn’t_ have that protection. Huh.

Luckily, the evil uncle seemed to take her silence (mostly from her massive realization, honestly. Okay, maybe a bit from fear too, but he _loomed_ , goddammit) as agreement, and moved on. She, in turn, doubled back around. Pendergast was gone, and even then, he’d be better than the creepy uncle.

“Exploring?” Someone said. Almost Pendergast’s voice, but the accent was stronger.  
Bean froze, and slowly turned. This Griffiths was the closest she’d seen to Pendergast yet. However, his eyes were unfocused, like he was slightly drunk. He was leaning against the opposite wall, tracking her movements as well as he could.  
“You’re Thomas.” Bean said. “I’m—”  
“I know who you are. The other two won’t stop talking about you. Unlike Penny though, I’m much better at staying quiet and eavesdropping. No, I won’t help you avoid him.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.” Bean snapped.  
Thomas chuckled. “Yeah, ‘cause it worked out _so well_ when you asked old Cadwaladr. I heard all that down there too. Sound travels.”  
“So what do you want to talk to me about?” Bean ground out.  
“Ah ah ah, princess Tiabeanie. I thought you were under strict instructions not to cause a scene?”

“How do you…”  
“Penny doesn’t write to me, but Birdy leaves her letters out.” Thomas cracked his neck. “I’m not the family idiot, you know. Pretty sure that’s Penny. And, given that I heard Penny talk _at length_ about how he was worried that he might do something like accidentally brush his hand against your face too hard or something, I’m more inclined to believe him than the old fuck. I’d swear to it in court too.”

“Why would it go to court?” Bean asked.  
Thomas grinned. It wasn’t a genuine smile, like Pendergast. It was… predatory. A warning. Bean shivered involuntarily. “Smart girl. It won’t, will it? Because you and I both know you’d be lying.”  
“He never hurt me!”  
“I know. …though, I am interested in why you ran.”

“I… none of your business.” Bean growled. She had space now, space to get a headstart, or a running jump or--  
“My brother’s happiness is _very much_ my business.” Thomas snapped. “And you are _very much_ an obstacle for that.”  
“I’m not going to hurt him!” Bean snarled. “And you can’t force me to love him!”  
“No. I can’t. I don’t think that’s the problem though. I think you’re pulling him along on your little strings.”

“I’m _not_.” Bean insisted.  
Thomas rolled his eyes. He pushed off of the wall, and made his way over to the window. He looked out, then looked back over at her. “Come over here.”  
“No thanks.” Bean crossed her arms.  
“I’m not interested in molesting you. I want to show you something.”

Her curiosity got the better of her. She moved over to the window.  
“What do you see?” Thomas asked conversationally.  
“The… forest?” Bean looked back at him.  
He nodded. “You know, when we were children, we’d all play in there. All day long. I would always win at hide and seek. I still know that forest intimately, better than anyone else. I know all the dried up creek beds, sinkholes, all the dangers and treasures.”

“I’m not just going to walk into the forest with you.” Bean hissed.  
Thomas laughed—and again, it sounded like a colder, meaner echo of Pendergast. “That’s not the point of my story. I was also going to add that people say I’m a killer. That I killed my own _father_. I’m not sure how much Penny’s told you about Arwel—that doesn’t matter.”  
“Did you?” Bean asked.  
“ _That_ doesn’t matter either. What matters is that I’m clearly capable of it. Now, Arwel was a big man. Military training. You think a scrawny girl like you can succeed where he failed? Understand, princess Tiabeanie—hurt my brother, and you won’t have to worry about uncle’s horsewhipping threat. You won’t ever have to worry about anything at all. You wouldn’t even have to worry about me getting caught—no one will ever find your body.”

“If I’m going down, I’d take you with me.” Bean growled, stepping back all the same.  
Thomas let her go. “And I’d thank you for it. But really, I don’t see death coming for either of us any time soon. You’re smart enough to at least let him down gently. And suicide is a sin, and I’ve got enough already.”

“Bean?” She heard a girl call. Bean turned, and saw Blodeuwedd, who was pale. “Birdy, hi, I was just talking to your br…” When she turned back, Thomas was already gone. Coward.  
Blodeuwedd ran forward and hugged her. “I’ve been so worried! Pendergast wouldn’t say what happened beside the fact that you ran into Uncle Cadwaladr, and then he just _left_ and he looked so pale… are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Um… how’s Pen?”  
“Weren’t you just… oh. Thomas.” Blodeuwedd said, making a face as she pulled back from the hug. “What happened, anyway?”  
“I just want to be friends, Pen wants to…” Bean waved her hand. “Be more than friends. He wants to talk about stuff. I don’t.”

Blodeuwedd’s eyes were large. “But you two… you love each other, right?”  
“No.” Bean said firmly. “No, we’re just friends.”  
“There’s more than one kind of love.” Blodeuwedd said gently. “You don’t have to be all David and Alice about it.”  
“Ha, it’s-it’s not love though.” Bean insisted. “Um, do you need me for something?”

Blodeuwedd cocked her head. “Well, I have something I want to include you in. Does that count?”  
“Sure, what do you need?”  
“I’m going to go track down my fucking flower supplier.” Blodeuwedd growled, though she seemed more angry at the situation than anything else. “I’m going to need backup, and my brothers have both wandered off, so why not my sister?”

“You think of me as a sister?” Bean repeated.  
Blodeuwedd shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Kind of. A sister-in-law, maybe? Hey, do you have weapons experience?”  
“Kind of?” Bean said.  
“Okay, we’ll bring some. Also I may need you to help me steal some horses.”  
“I thought we were going after flowers?”

“Oh, we are. But I was thinking that those Dreamland horses would be a good fit for this mission.” Blodeuwedd said innocently.  
“Okay, but I get to ride Carrots.” Bean said after a pause. Hopefully Pendergast wouldn’t be _too_ mad—and if he was, at least his sister would be safe.

“I don’t know which one is which.” Blodeuwedd admitted cheerfully, before grabbing Bean’s hand and pulling her along.


	11. The Adventures of Bean and Birdy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter gets a bit... dark. There's no actual assault, but there's threats of it. If that sets you off (because I foolishly thought my writing couldn't do that in the past, like an idiot) skip from _Marlowe lifted his sword from Blodeuwedd's jaw_ to _That was about when Bean slammed into him_.

“So, are you going to give me the shovel talk like Thomas?” Bean asked as they reached the armory.  
Blodeuwedd buzzed around, checking various swords—presumably for rust, since she seemed kind of like she was going to have it for show.  
“What did Thomas say?” Blodeuwedd paused.  
“Uh, he threatened to kill me and hide the body if I hurt Pendergast.”

Blodeuwedd gave a small hum. “Thomas is a blunt club. He isolates himself, and then tries to use his anger to ‘help’ Penny and me. Never mind that we don’t ask for it. He’s an alcoholic who hates change, it’s impossible to get him to do something he doesn’t want to.”  
“…is that- are you insulting me?” Bean asked.  
“Whereas Penny is a romantic.” Blodeuwedd continued, as if Bean had never spoken. “He’s an arrow. He flies straight and true, and it’s all over immediately if you hit the right point. Sometimes it’s hard to, though. He’s a bit thick-headed.”

“Where are you taking this metaphor?”  
Blodeuwedd shrugged. “I don’t really know either. My point is, you can’t have him half one way or half another. It’d kill him. You can’t have him in every way but one. He’s very much all or nothing.”  
“I… I don’t want to hurt him.” Bean said slowly.  
Blodeuwedd sheathed another sword with finality. “Not that one. And if you don’t want to, then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple.” Bean protested.  
“I think it is.” Blodeuwedd said. “Because here’s the thing; I am a precision scalpel. Thomas will kill you. Pendergast will pine over you relentlessly. They’re both idiots, but they’re largely harmless. I can actually look at things with nuance.”

“You’re sixteen.” Bean scoffed, rolling her eyes.  
“And I’m pretty sure you like him, so I’m not going to threaten you. Not on purpose, anyway. But here’s what I’m trying to say—I’m _smarter_ than my brothers. Granny told me to weaponize my education, so I did. It’s one of the few tools we have as noblewomen to make our way in the world.” She finally turned to face Bean fully. “Please understand, I am more dangerous than my brothers put together. But, I like you. You’re honest with me, even if you’re not with yourself. You’re strong, and capable. I can see why Penny likes you too.”

“…okay, so that’s two out of three with the shovel talk today.” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd shook her head. “I’m not threatening you. I’m _not_. I think you’re confused. My family can be… a lot. You’ve seen David with Alice, yes?”  
“Yeah? Also, thank you for calling her Alice.”  
Blodeuwedd waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure Thomas also gave you a prepared monologue, and Uncle Cadwaladr. I can guess why you don’t want to sit down with Pendergast and get another one, though at least the theme will be different.”

She finally selected a sword, and clipped it to her waist. She then found a bow and a quiver full of arrows for Bean.  
“It’s not that.” Bean protested as they walked towards the stables. She'd just waited out Blodeuwedd's soliloquy as well, after all.   
“Then what is it?”

“It’s not love.” Bean finally said. “He thinks it is. He’s going to _say_ it, even if I told him not to.”  
“And why’d you do that?” Blodeuwedd asked as stableboys rushed around them to ready Carrots and Ribbons.  
“I… because it’s _not_.” Bean said firmly.  
“Okay, I don’t want to go in circles. How do you know?” Blodeuwedd asked, watching Bean.

“I don’t—I don’t love him.” Bean said, her mouth feeling dry.  
Blodeuwedd kept her eyes on Bean. “Okay. Doesn’t mean you can speak for him, though.”  
“He _can’t_.”  
“I think he can. You’re not a witch living in the woods—you can make him smile. Laugh. That sounds like love in the stories, at least the ones where there's a few chapters about their love. Why wouldn’t he want to keep that happiness with him?”

“That’s not what love is.” Bean replied, petting Carrots.  
Blodeuwedd swung up into her side saddle, and Bean mounted Carrots. He was a bit of a bastard, but not nearly as bad as Pendergast made him sound. “Have you been in love before?”  
“Have you?” Bean shot back.  
Blodeuwedd tried to look thoughtful as they rode out of the keep. “Mum said there are different kinds of love. But no. Not the kind you mean.”

“Then how do you know what it is?” Bean huffed.  
“How do you?” Blodeuwedd asked.  
“…I don’t.” Bean finally admitted. “I… when I saw my mom again after fifteen years, I had to ask what… I had forgotten what affection was. That… this… my dad loved my mom. It made him blind to her, let her walk all over him and ruin our lives. I think in her weird way, my mom loves me. She tried to kill me. Same for my dad. Derek hates me—Elfo’s _weird_ and he says he’s in love with me too. I just don’t want Pen to get _weird_.”

Blodeuwedd sighed. “I love you.”  
Bean’s head snapped towards her. “ _What_?” Oh God, she’d been lured out into the forest to be hit on by Pen’s 16 year old sister. How did she let her down without getting _another_ shovel talk?  
“As a sister.” Blodeuwedd clarified. “I always wanted one. And you seemed larger than life in Penny’s letters. My mother loves you as a daughter. There are different kinds of love in this world, Bean.”

“I know that.” Bean said almost defensively. “I just… that’s not the problem. Everyone who loves me gets weird.”  
Blodeuwedd shook her head. “I don’t think they… look. Love, real love, is unconditional. But it’s a choice. Your parents don’t seem to love you the way my mother loves us.”  
“Your mom’s special.”

“She is, but the fact that she loves us fiercely isn’t what does it.” Blodeuwedd said gently. “Even Auntie Hannah loves her children properly.”  
Bean felt a lump in her throat. “My parents love me.”  
Blodeuwedd shrugged. “Okay. You’d know better than me. Hey, whatever happens with my brother, you have a family here, okay? There’s different kinds of love, but the kind I mentioned? You can have that here.”  
Bean tried to swallow, but the lump only seemed to grow. She nodded tersely, and they mostly rode in silence.

Meanwhile, Pendergast was pacing around his childhood bedroom, while the other occupant for the past twenty-five years looked on in mild annoyance.  
“I don’t think she’s worth it.” Thomas finally said.  
Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “Great. Thank you, Thomas. Please give me more of your wisdom on women, which you don’t like anyway.”

“Okay. Next time, head her off before she runs.” Thomas said.  
Pendergast stopped to stare at him. “What am I, a fucking animal stalking its prey?”  
“Your words, not mine.”  
“Jesus fucking—I came here to _vent_ , Thomas.”  
“Unfortunate.” Thomas said. “Vent, I guess.”

Pendergast resumed pacing. “She won’t let me tell her I love her. She won’t let me talk to her about _why_ like an adult.”  
“I didn’t even know any of us could love. It’s not like Mum and Arwel were a great example.” Thomas mused. “And the only man we’re related to right now who’s had sex with a woman is Cadwaladr, but I assume you’re here ranting at me about women—which I don’t care about—in particular your girlfriend—whom I loathe—because even you realize that Cadwaladr’s marriage is shit.”

“Right, like I’d go to Uncle for emotional support anyway!”  
“Mm.” Thomas said. “He talked to her afterward, by the way. She cleared up that you’re not a rapist, he threatened to horsewhip her, it went about as well as a one on one conversation between them would have.”  
“He _what_?!” Pendergast stopped again. “How the fuck did you hear about this?”

“I was in the hall listening to you, and then her. She was nearby, pretty sure she heard you talking to Cadwaladr. Didn’t want to talk to you directly because—and this is very important—she is a bitch, and not worth your time.”  
“Thomas, I’m not afraid to punch you. Don’t call her that again.”

Thomas waved his hand dismissively. “All I’m saying is, quit while you’re ahead. It’s not like you did anything that couldn’t be undone.”  
Pendergast looked away, a blush beginning to rise.  
“…tell me you didn’t take the princess’ virginity.” Thomas said, horrified.

“I didn’t take her—how do you know about that?!”  
“I snooped in Birdy’s letters since you don’t write me.” Thomas replied. “But thank _God_. No, this doesn’t mean I want you to tell me about your sex life. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have one.”  
“Stop talking about my sex life!” Pendergast hissed, flushed. “…it’s not much of a life if it’s one night—”  
Thomas buried his face in a pillow. “Why me?” He wailed.

“Melodramatic bastard.” Pendergast huffed. “This isn’t about you! I’m having a crisis!”  
“Of what? Just tell her to fuck off, and that you won’t let her use you.”  
“I’m not going to tell her to fuck off!” Pendergast snapped. “…if she explicitly says she’s using me, fine, but… I just want to _know_.”  
“That’s stupid.” Thomas huffed.

With the girls, they had made excellent progress. They were already at the drop off-point, after all. It was a fairly open clearing that the road ran straight through.  
Blodeuwedd scowled. “He was to wait here until we met up with him.”  
“Seems like he’s not the only guy you’ve hired with problems.” Bean cracked her neck.

Blodeuwedd stared at the ground, annoyed. “Boot prints, Dreamland ditchweed… what am I missing?”  
“Excuse me?” Bean asked.  
Blodeuwedd waved her hand. “Trying to remember Penny’s stories about tracking…”  
Right. Mostly tracking Bean.

“I mean, they may not have been here.” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd was silent for a minute, before dismounting. She slowly made her way over, picking something up out of the mud. “This is a rose leaf.”  
“Yeah? Maybe someone else—”  
“The closest roses are in the capital.” Blodeuwedd said. “And this is fresh. The way transported flowers would need to be.”

Bean pulled Carrots’ reins up. “Any idea where they might be?”  
Blodeuwedd slowly looked around. “Cart tracks run all over this clearing, but… they’re headed that way, I think.”  
“You’re sure?” Bean asked.  
“I’m sure.” Blodeuwedd said. “…can I tell them you’re my hired bodyguard, and you’ve killed ten men?”  
“I thought you couldn’t lie.” Bean said.

“I can pretend it is not hurting longer than my brothers can.” Blodeuwedd admitted. “It… helps if it’s paired with a truth.”  
Bean thought for a minute, before counting on her fingers. “Guysbert… I mean, he was fine for a while… Sven, his Vikings… what is that, seven of ‘em? Hansel and Gretel, Big Joe, Cloyd and Becky… eleven men and two women. I think. I’m not sure if the accidents count.”

“You are terrifying.” Blodeuwedd said with evident glee. “And I will use that. Come on!” She spurred Ribbons on, and of course, Carrots followed.  
They found the cart quickly enough. The driver was sitting against the side, smoking a pipe.  
“Hey!” Blodeuwedd huffed. “Are those the flowers that are meant to go to Caer Griffiths?!”

The man jumped. “Who’re you?”  
Blodeuwedd straightened. “I’m the one who ordered them. You’re late.”  
The man shrugged. “Damn highwaymen took my oxen when I wouldn’t pay them. Got caught by the highwaymen ‘cause Dreamland authorities detained me for hours ‘pon hearin’ that I was in Bentwood.”  
“Why?” Bean asked.  
The man took a thoughtful puff. “S’far’s I can tell, they thought I might be hiding soldiers in flower pots. Said their commanding officer told them to be on guard. Asked ‘em where I could find this ‘commanding officer’ so I could give him a piece of my mind, and make sure the idiots stopped pokin’ round my cart.”  
“Did you find him?” Bean asked, though she had a sinking feeling that she knew who the commanding officer was. Stupid overprotective Pendergast.

“Nah, apparently he’s on some sort of vacation.” The man spat something brown over his shoulder. Both of the girls winced. “Wish _I_ could have a fucking vacation…”  
“I mean… it’s not his fault…” Bean tried. “It’s his first in years. I mean, it _might_ be his first. I don’t know him.”  
“Yeah, the princess is apparently consistently getting into trouble.” Blodeuwedd agreed. “That’s why I am traveling with my bodyguard here. She’s killed at least eleven men, and two women.”

The flower seller looked them over. “Maybe you two can go get my oxen back then.”  
Blodeuwedd crossed her arms. “Maybe. How do I know you’re not going to get fucking _lost_ and leave again?”  
“I left the meeting point since I was trying to outrun two highwaymen in the dark. Fuck it, I’ll deliver them right to your shit castle if you get Bess and Daisy back. Fucking Dreamlanders…” The man muttered darkly.

“You’ve got a deal.” Blodeuwedd said.  
“Uh… which way did they go?” Bean asked.  
The man pointed, and the girls spurred the horses on.

They found the bandits in another little clearing, similar to the one Bean and Pendergast had stopped in several days ago.  
“I’m just saying, they’d be good meat!” One of the highwaymen whined.

“You _fucking_ idiot!” The other huffed. “How many times do I have to tell you—they’re for selling! That much meat would go bad! It’d be a fucking _waste_!”  
“We could dry it.”  
“Oh? And go into the jerky-making business? No! There’d be nowhere to _put_ it!”  
“We could just kill _one…_ ”  
“Same problem! Just halved! Look, leave the _thinking_ to me.”

“So, they’re clearly both morons.” Blodeuwedd muttered.  
“I don’t know, the guy saying they should make jerky is making some sense…” Bean replied. “They _would_ be good meat.”  
Blodeuwedd shot her a long look, then shook her head. “Perffaith ar gyfer ei gilydd… what’s the plan?”  
“Shit, people plan for this kind of thing? I was thinking we’d just go in and steal the oxen back.”

Blodeuwedd leaned back, hands folded in front of her face. “Oh my God, it’s all sheer dumb luck, isn’t it…? Okay, _you_ go steal the oxen. I am going to go distract the bandits.”  
“Uh, no, Pen’ll kill me.” Bean hissed. “ _I’ll_ distract the bandits.”  
“How?” Blodeuwedd asked. “And _don’t_ tell me you’ll make it up on the fly.”

“…I could pretend to be a ghost.” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I’m afraid to ask, but _how_?”  
“I don’t know, I could just go _ooooh_. You know, like a ghost.”  
“I _think_ you’d need to put in a bit more effort than that.” Blodeuwedd said drily. “But, you’d make a better ghost than me, so let’s work with what we have. There are some berries over there we can smear on you to look like blood, and a cloak in my saddlebag. I can make eerie noises in the woods—now, what kind of ghost would you be? A murdered wife? The kind that drags people into the woods to eat? Ooh, you could be a vampire!”

Unfortunately, this was when one of the highwaymen got up and went to the bushes to take a leak, and instead found them. He screamed. They screamed.  
“Put that away!” Blodeuwedd hissed, blushing.  
“Yeah, man, it’s really not that impressive.” Bean said.  
Blodeuwedd covered her ears. “La la la la la, _not listening to whatever you’re using as a point of comparison_.”

“What the _hell_ —who are you?!” The other highwayman demanded.  
“Can you get out of the bushes so I can piss there?” The first one—the one who wanted to make jerky—asked.  
The second bandit drew his sword. “Hands where I can see them. Now get out of the bushes. …George, get the rope.”

“Marlowe, I need to _pee_. And the rope’s holding the oxen anyway!”  
“They won’t run off! These two, however…” Marlowe lifted his sword to Blodeuwedd’s jaw.  
George went and got the rope. Bean was about to resist, but then Marlowe started drawing blood. “Uh uh uh—she’s got such a pretty face. Don’t want to see it go dead and empty, hm?”  
Bean swallowed, seeing Birdy’s panicked eyes, and let herself be tied up and led over to the fire with Blodeuwedd.

“Now, what might you two be doing in our woods at this time of night?” Marlowe asked.  
“These aren’t your woods! This is Griffiths land!” Blodeuwedd hissed. “You should let us go now.”  
Marlowe raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”  
“Because you’ll hang if you don’t.” Blodeuwedd spat.

“Ah, but that’s only if anyone finds out.” Marlowe said. “Now, let’s try again. What are you two doing here?”  
“Nothing. We, uh, wanted to join you.” Bean lied.  
Marlowe did not seem amused. “We’re not taking applications. George is shit, but he’s my brother.”

“You don’t look alike.” Bean pointed out.  
“He’s adopted.” Marlowe replied with a shrug. “…now, the question is, what do we do with these two snoops, George?”  
“They’ll be looking for us.” Bean quickly said. “Knights. Guards. We’re with other people.”

“No you’re not.” Marlowe said. “You would have said already.”  
“Do we… kill them?” George asked.  
“Oh, come on, George! I was rooting for you!” Blodeuwedd snapped.  
Marlowe watched them thoughtfully. “Now, why is that your go-to, George? What have I said about _waste_?”

The girls both repressed a shudder.  
“You mean, as a ransom…?” Blodeuwedd asked hopefully.  
“Ah, so you’re _both_ worth a ransom? But then again, you’re not _thinking_. If I ask for a ransom, they’ll know you were taken. And then _we_ get hanged, when the only crime my darling brother committed was not going to the bathroom when we stopped earlier like I said.”  
“I didn’t have to go then!” George whined.

“And I mean, you did steal those oxen.” Bean added, nodding towards Daisy and Bess.  
Marlowe focused on her. “…how did you know that? For all you knew, we were farmers on our way to market.”  
“You tied us up and threatened to kill us!” Blodeuwedd hissed.  
“Only if you don’t behave.” Marlowe said mildly. “You look like a well-bred noblewoman. Young, and pretty, and I bet you’re not married, so that means…”

Blood drained from Blodeuwedd’s face. “No.”  
“I could be gentle, if you’re nice.”  
“Hey.” Bean snapped. “Leave her alone, you fucking creep!”  
“This does not involve you.” Marlowe said, keeping his eyes on Blodeuwedd.

She squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t want this.”  
Marlowe’s mouth quirked. “Oh, you truly are a virgin then. It doesn’t have to be about what _you_ want.”  
“Whoa whoa whoa, creepazoid. _Leave her alone_.” Bean growled. She struggled harder, feeling something slick around her fingers. Sweat? Blood? Didn’t matter—she was getting out of this.  
Marlowe glanced at her, then turned his attention back to an increasingly pale Blodeuwedd. “Don’t make this difficult for yourself, my dove.”  
“Your _what_?” Blodeuwedd choked out. “I’m not your dove.”  
“Mm…” Marlowe grabbed her face. “You seem to have forgotten who is in charge here, little noblewoman.”

While Marlowe was otherwise distracted, Bean slowly stood up, having worked her hands free enough.  
“You are here at my leisure. We _could_ just kill you, but I don’t want to have to do that. Why don’t you make yourself use— _fuck_!” That was about when Bean slammed into him.  
“Fucking creep!” Bean hissed as the two wrestled.  
“Bitch!”

Marlowe pulled a knife on her. Bean thrashed, flipping him into the fire. Marlowe screamed, and Bean used the opportunity to grab the knife and finish the job.  
“That was my brother.” George said.  
“…Adopted brother.” Blodeuwedd added.  
“You killed my brother!”  
“And mine will kill you if you touch her!” Blodeuwedd screamed. “I have been tied up listening to that _fuck_ —” and this is when they glanced at the corpse, crackling in the fire. Bean still hadn’t said anything.

“—go _on_ and _on_ about what he wanted to do to me.” Blodeuwedd’s voice cracked.  
Bean slowly moved away from the fire, and cut Blodeuwedd free. “So we’re taking the oxen now.”  
“Okay.” George said as Bean and Blodeuwedd gathered the oxen and left. They delivered them, and then escorted the flower seller to the castle. Both girls were fairly quiet the whole way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perffaith ar gyfer ei gilydd = Perfect for each other.


	12. Lynette is the best member of the family

Pendergast had moved his pacing to the courtyard, long after the shadows of sunset turned to flickering torches in the night. Unfortunately, Thomas had joined him, leaning against a wall to the stables. “I’m worried too, you know. It’s not like Birdy to disappear.”   
Pendergast ground his teeth. “I wonder what could have changed…”   
“I’m telling you, she’s a bitch.” Thomas said cheerfully.

Pendergast shot him a dark look. “Don’t make me punch you again.”   
“Go ahead. Seems like you _really_ want to give into your violent urges. Hey, Penny, do you ever think about where _those_ came from?”   
“Don’t fucking _goad_ me, Thomas.”   
Thomas cracked his neck. “You got lucky earlier little brother. As I recall, I can crush you easily.”

Pendergast scoffed. “What, like I’m still a child? I’ve been to war.”   
“You still act like a hotheaded idiot. I can definitely take you out. You work yourself up and charge in all blood and gore, and you think it’s _heroic_.” Thomas sneered. “You’re a sober Arwel.”   
Pendergast was about to growl a reply, but he was prevented by the return of Bean, Blodeuwedd, and the flower salesman.

Bean was absolutely covered in blood, and far too quiet, and Blodeuwedd was pale and then she was running towards them, crying. It was like a dam had been broken.  
“What happened?” Thomas snarled at Bean.   
“There were these m-men…” Blodeuwedd sobbed into Thomas’ chest. “I was so scared… Bean killed him.”   
“Well, yeah. I couldn’t let him hurt you.” Bean said quietly, dismounting.   
“You did _what_ in front of Blodeuwedd?” Pendergast demanded.   
“Don’t be mad at her! I wouldn’t be here now if not for her!” Blodeuwedd suddenly hissed, pulling away from her brothers to stand by Bean. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, and tried to draw herself up to her full height. She wasn’t very imposing, all of 5’5”, still clearly crying, and shaking slightly, trying to pretend she was braver than she was.  
“It’s okay, you know. You shouldn’t have been in that kind of situation.” Bean said, placing an awkward hand on Blodeuwedd’s shoulder.

“For once, I agree with the drewgi _._ ” Thomas spat. “You should have asked me or Penny to help you on your quest.”   
“Fuck you, I couldn’t find either of you because you were both off sulking about how hard your life is! ‘Oh, everyone thinks my brother’s better than me including me, boo hoo.’ ‘Oh, my girlfriend doesn’t like to use the word ‘love’ because her mother’s a manipulative bitch, so sad.’ I couldn’t find a brother, so I got my sister instead. And you know what? Marlowe would have killed either of you immediately!” Blodeuwedd screamed.

Bean squeezed Blodeuwedd’s shoulder, trying to calm her down before she became full-blown hysterical. “It’s okay, you know. You’re okay.”   
“I… I hated him, but I still didn’t want to watch a man die like that.” Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes again.   
Bean gave a wry smile. “Yeah, me neither.”   
“I’m sorry, you _killed_ someone? Outright murder? In front of my _baby sister_?!” Pendergast growled.

Bean held up a finger. “Sorry, Pen, I’ll get right back to you, I just—I’m just going to take a little nap first.” And then she collapsed forward. He ran to catch her, just barely managing to do so. Of course, his panic began to spike. “Is this all her blood, Blodeuwedd?!”   
“No, it’s-it’s Marlowe’s!” Blodeuwedd said quickly, looking like she was on the verge of hyperventilation. “She stabbed him in the throat.”

And that should have dried. Her hands were stained red, and she looked like a nightmare. It was beginning to stain his hands too. “Medic. We need a medic.”   
Bloeuwedd was already off like a shot.   
“ _Now_ , Thomas!” Pendergast growled.   
“Where are you taking her? I need to know where to send them.”

“Our room.”   
Thomas nodded once, and left as well.   
Pendergast carried Bean to their room, and laid her on the bed. She was so cold, and pale—how had he not seen it? He stayed by her side until Lynette firmly but kindly kicked him out, anything anyone was saying drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He’d been so _stupid_.

“You look like you could use a drink.” Thomas commented as Pendergast resumed pacing.   
Pendergast’s head snapped up. “Just give me a _fucking_ reason.”   
Thomas cracked his neck. “Oh, I’m itching for a fight too. Our baby sister was nearly raped by a highwayman. She had to watch your _girlfriend_ savagely kill him.”   
“And you wouldn’t have?”   
“ _I_ wouldn’t have let it get that far. I would have killed that bastard on sight.” Thomas replied. “And I know for a fact you would have as well.”

“What’s your fucking _point_ , Thomas?”   
“My point is, you may dress it up in fancy armor, but deep down? You’re just as violent as me. As Arwel. You love being covered in blood, don’t you? Do you realize who’s blood you’re covered in right now? _Does it matter to you?_ ”

That was the last straw. Pendergast lunged for his brother, slamming his head into the stone floor.   
“Who’s covered in blood now, asshole?” He snarled.   
Thomas grappled him. “You fucking _idiot_. Do you really think my sins wash away yours? You weren’t there to protect her either! You never protected _anyone_!”   
Pendergast narrowly dodged the punch, but not the knee to the stomach. He didn’t dodge the second punch but he gave as good as he got.

“And you’re some bastion of heroism yourself?! You’re a drunk who self-isolates!” Pendergast spat out a tooth. “How _dare_ you tell me what to do!”   
“Oh, no, you’ve got your precious princess for that! You follow her around like a dog in heat—no wonder she doesn’t actually want you!”   
“Tell me, Thomas—does _anyone_ want you?! I sure as fuck don’t!” Pendergast slammed his brother’s head down again.   
Thomas spat blood at him. “You were _made_ for killing, baby brother.”

Pendergast suddenly backed away. “I’m not a kinslayer.”   
Thomas pushed himself into a seated position. “No? But you don’t deny that you’re a fucking murderer. At least I can say I’m not.”   
Pendergast looked at the blood on his hands, then at the door. “Don’t make me hurt you, Thomas.”   
“ _Make you_?” Thomas snorted. “Ah—you broke my nose. Bastard. I’ve never _made_ you do anything. I’ve certainly never made you react to me like that.”

Pendergast glanced down at his hands—covered in different layers of blood. He sank into a seated position against the wall, watching the door. She had to be okay.

Inside, Bean was slowly coming around to a woman singing and running a hand through her hair.   
“Mom?” She croaked. She was dimly aware that she was under the blanket, in bed. Was this a nightmare?  
The hand stopped—and her eyes came into focus, just a bit. “No, fy nghariad gwyn. Just me.”   
Oh, Lynette. That was better.

“I killed him.” Bean admitted.   
“I know.” Lynette said. The hand returned. “You were very brave. You lost some blood, but you’ll be fine, I think. In time for the wedding, at least.”   
Bean closed her eyes. “Can we talk about something normal?”   
“What kind of normal?”

“I don’t know. What if—what if I was really your kid? What would you be saying then?”   
“Well, first off either way—thank you for saving my daughter. My family owes you a debt of gratitude. If you were my daughter in blood, I think I’d start talking about your injuries. May I?”   
“Go ahead.”   
“We were worried that you were stabbed in the chest, so we were forced to take off your shirt. Thankfully, it was one stab to the arm. I imagine it was some of the shock of it all that caused you to faint in my son’s arms.”

“Where is Pen?”   
“Outside. It would be improper for him to have seen your chest, wounds or not. Besides, he was working himself up.” Lynette laughed. “Men and blood don’t mix well, I’ve found. Arwel nearly fainted after Thomas’ birth.”   
“So, I’m fine…?” Bean asked.   
Lynette pursed her lips. “You’ll definitely live. I poured betony onto the wound, to help it heal and knit clean, so to speak. But, do you want to talk about any of it…?”

“Any of what? Birdy’s fine.” Bean said defensively.   
Lynette paused. “That’s not the only consequence of what happened there, and you know it.”   
“I’ve killed before.” Bean said. “Brutally, too.”   
“Hmm.” Lynette said. “Do you want to talk about _that_?”

“It was the scream.” Bean finally said. “When I pushed him into the fire. And I was so scared I was going to die… and I haven’t had time to just push it down yet. And I don’t have Elfo and Luci here to distract me.”   
“Maybe it’s better to talk about it. …if it helps, I think Pendergast might understand.” Lynette glanced towards the door.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me right now.” Bean said.   
“He would hardly leave your side.” Lynette said gently. “He’s out there right now.”   
Bean pursed her lips. “…Lynette? Can you talk to me about your mom?”   
“What do you want to know?”

“I… just… why wasn’t I good enough for her? For my mom?” Bean finally asked, choking back a sob. “How do you get over it?”  
“Listen to me.” Lynette’s voice had an underlying current of steel that Bean had never heard from her before. “You are an amazing young woman. You saved my daughter, and you made my son laugh. Both of those are equally wondrous things. You’re eager to learn, and be loved, and there is _nothing_ wrong with you.”   
“I don’t want anyone to _love_ me, let alone Pendergast!” Bean growled, eying Lynette suspiciously.

“My point is, it’s not _you_. There is nothing you could have done that could have made her happy, because the fault lies with her. Do you understand me?” Lynette asked, ignoring the line about Pendergast.   
Bean’s eyes shifted past Lynette’s shoulder. “You don’t get it.”   
“No, I don’t suppose I do. I don’t have an aversion to love, but I know I craved it just as much at your age. More openly, at least. I saw my mother only a handful of times in my life, but I was never… _enough_. She was a beautiful fae noblewoman, I was… Lynette.” She shrugged. “I felt like an ugly duckling next to a graceful swan, which wasn’t helped when she was criticizing me and what I wore.”

Bean’s eyes shifted back to Lynette. “…go on?”   
“I made my own choices. Not all of them good. She… didn’t like any of them. Not even the good ones. I couldn’t change her, but I could not be her. I’m sure she loved me—and still does, in her own way—but I was never going to make my children feel like that. Do you understand?”   
“…I nearly killed her.” Bean admitted. “Several times.”   
“I’m going to assume she was trying to kill you, fy nghariad gwyn.” Lynette said softly. “You have a kind heart, and crave her love.”   
“It _hurts_. Why does love hurt so bad?” Bean was beginning to cry now. “It always _hurts_. Why does everyone always think it’s so great?”

“Because love—real love, true love—doesn’t hurt like that. Unconditional love, the kind we all deserve, doesn’t hurt like that.”   
“Then no one loves me.” Bean concluded softly. “I’m not… why aren’t I _worth_ it?”   
Lynette clicked her tongue. “No, fy nghariad gwyn. That’s not what I’m saying. You’re more than worth it in every single way. If you wish, I’ll love you wholeheartedly, even if it’s a bit late for you to have a mother.”

“That’s just because Pen wants… I don’t know what he wants. He doesn’t _get it_ , though.”   
“He doesn’t get what he wants?” Lynette commented wryly.   
“He doesn’t understand. Not like you.”   
“…Pendergast understands more than you think about unloving parents.”

Bean scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’re the perfect mom.”   
“I’m not. I could never protect my children from my husband. It’s—it’s my greatest failing.” Lynette admitted. “He and Thomas wanted Arwel to love them so badly… Thomas especially. He let it make him cruel as a child, and he never kicked the habit as an adult.”   
“I know what Thomas thinks about me.” Bean scoffed. “…he’s right. I’m not—I’m not _good_ , like you think I am.”

“Oh? Why is that?”   
“I just killed a man!”   
“To protect an innocent girl.”   
“I’ve killed lots of people. Pen—Pen said I was selfish last night. He was right. I… I just don’t want to be alone again.” Bean wiped at her eyes. “It’s all about me, and not what he wants, and I just… your brother-in-law, the one who doesn’t like you? He said I was cruel, and he was right too. I try so hard to be good and I just…” She drew a shaky breath. “No one likes me either way, I might as well have a little fun, right?”

“You’re so young.” Lynette said. “The world should be open to you in every possible way. I’m sorry that you’ve had to kill. That never should have been forced upon you. You sacrificed your innocence to protect Blodeuwedd’s, and I can never thank you enough for that. You’re not a monster. You’re _certainly_ not unlovable.”   
“You’re a mom, you have to say that.”

“No? Blodeuwedd will likely become your personal crusader if Pendergast ever falls down on the job.” Lynette smiled gently. “You will always be a daughter to me, even if you never become my daughter in law. Even Rhoswen apparently likes you. I heard her defending you to Cadwaladr, and she picks her battles well. Lady Broderick was anxious to know what she could do to help you. Pendergast is waiting for me to let him back in so he can stay by your bedside. You’re loved, I promise you, and this is only after a few days. You’re a dear girl, Tiabeanie, and if nothing else, we’re happy to be your family. You’re one of us now, and we take care of our own.”

“Ha, I see where Pen and Birdy get it from.” Bean gave her a watery smile. “Thanks, by the way.”   
“It’s no trouble, fy nghariad gwyn.” Lynette said. “Shall I send him in? If he doesn’t behave himself, call for me.”   
“You can hear us?” Bean asked, horrified.   
Lynette looked alarmed at the sudden change in tone. “I… not as such, but I imagine _someone_ will hear here. Rhoswen seems to know everything, after all.”   
Bean buried herself deeper in the covers. “Oh. Good.” She said weakly.

Lynette kissed Bean’s forehead, right at the hairline. “Stay warm, and drink lots of water. If you don’t do so, Pendergast will be forced to be your nurse.”   
“Ha, I bet he wouldn’t be too bad.” Bean said. “Good night, Lynette.”   
“Good night, fy nghariad gwyn.” Lynette said softly, before sweeping out of the room.

She found both of her sons more or less lying in bloody heaps.   
“Good Lord, what has happened to you two?” Lynette gasped.   
Pendergast stood. “Is she okay?”   
“Are _you_?”

“Penny’s bark is worse than his bite.” Thomas piped up from where he was sprawled on the cobblestones.   
Lynette’s mouth was a thin line. “I thought you two had outgrown this.”   
“Mm.” Thomas gave her a thumbs up. “Nice try.”

“Do you need help, Thomas?”   
“Not particularly. Just enjoying the cool feeling of the floor against my bruises.”   
“How is she?” Pendergast asked more urgently, apparently done with this line of questioning.

“She’s fine, physically.” Lynette said. “…be kind, machgen.”   
Pendergast swallowed. “Yes, Mum.”   
“He wasn’t kind to me.” Thomas said.   
Pendergast shot him a dark look. “You called me a murderer.”

“Funny, as far as I was aware, you are.” Thomas said airily.   
Lynette sighed. “What am I to do with you, bwlyn? Come with me, unless you intend to lie there all night.”   
Thomas rose to his feet. “I’ve had worse. Night, Penny.”   
Pendergast was already through the door. It closed softly behind him as he rushed to her side.

“Hey.” He said.   
“Hi.” She said softly. “…so, I’m guessing neither of us told your mom you’ve seen my breasts?”   
“It was very dark at the time.” He replied. “…I’m not happy.”   
“Why?”

“Because I was so _scared_ , and helpless. I hate feeling that way, and I hate that I couldn’t protect you, or Birdy.” Pendergast ground out. “And I hate thinking about if you had _died_ and I’d never said… why don’t you want me to say I love you?”   
Bean sighed, and ran her tongue over her teeth. “Love isn’t as nice as you think it is. It’s… it’s what people use to manipulate you. It’s cruel. It _hurts_. You don’t deserve that.”

Pendergast considered this. “Alright then. I don’t love you. Not like that, at least. I want to make you smile and laugh, because it makes everything seem brighter. I worry so much when you’re in pain and I can’t help you that I think I paced a hole in several floors. I like knowing that you’re okay—because then I feel okay. I want to be near you all the time—not even for sex, just to have you nearby. I like talking to you, even if you’re insulting me. I love the sound of your voice. I love everything about you, even when you drive me crazy.”   
“I don’t like that word.”

“Then I crave it all. I need it. Because it’s _you_ , and I can never get enough of you. And I nearly lost you, and my sister, in one fell swoop, and I wouldn’t have even realized. Do you realize how _scared_ that makes me?”   
“But everything’s fine.” Bean protested.   
“But it might not have been.” Pendergast shot back. “It’s not just my job to keep you safe, Tiabeanie, but my _pleasure_. I want… I want to spend as much time as possible with you. Years. Decades. I… I don’t want any of this to stop, except the part where I’m worried out of my mind. I care about you deeply. And I don’t _mind_ if you’re using me for sex, I just want to know.”

Bean coughed out a laugh. “If I was using you, I would have let you said you love me. But… what you described, that’s not love.”   
“What is it, then?”   
“I don’t know. Something way better. Something _good_. And… I like it. I like it a lot. Do you want to know something awful? I barely know Birdy. So I didn’t just protect her because she’s a kid, I did it because… well, I know you would have been upset if anything happened to her. Sorry I didn’t do it better.”

“You did wonderfully.” Pendergast said. “And thank you, for saving my sister.”   
Bean smiled tiredly at him. “It’s fine. I… you’re my person now, you know? And I don’t know how long this is going to last. But… I’m not going to run again. At least, not if you’re just being a dick. And not… not if you say stuff like that. Because I like the way you feel with your arms around me, and I like the way you feel inside me. And I like it when you play with my hair, and call me _Tiabeanie_ or _princess_. I like… I like knowing someone’s got my back. I like having yours. I like how you’ll help if you can. You’re a good guy, Pendergast, and I like that.”

“…would you say… a good _knight_?” He asked, almost sly.   
She laughed. “Yeah, I would. _My_ good knight.”   
He kissed her hand. “Of course, _princess_.”   
“Mm… get in bed, I’m tired.” She said. “…also, was it really that easy?”

“What?”   
“Talking about feelings.”   
“Mm-hmm.” He blew out the candles across the room, and she heard the rustle of clothing, then felt the bed move.   
“…sorry I ran.”   
“Eh. I’ll get revenge soon enough.” Pendergast said as she curled up to him. “Either that, or I won’t let it up until you grow tired of me.”

“Don’t talk about that.” Bean huffed. “We _just_ started going out.”   
“…so we’re _courting_.”   
“Yeah?”   
“And I didn’t even have to get you a drink.”

She laughed. “Dork.”   
“Your dork, princess. For as long as you need me, or want me, I will be yours.”   
“Sappy. Stop talking about me breaking up with you.”   
“Or what, fy nhrysor?”   
“Or I will for real.” She muttered into his shoulder.

“And then who would wait on you hand and foot?” He nipped at her earlobe on her uninjured side, tangling his fingers into her hair.   
“Ah, watch the arm.”   
He pulled back, and she repositioned herself.   
“Sorry.”   
“Mm, don’t be. …so what was that about waiting on me hand and foot?” Bean leaned against him.

“Well, I’m yours anyway. And you’re injured. I need to care for you—more so than usual, anyway.” He buried his face into the crook of her neck, planting little kisses.   
“Hey, I can take care of myself.”   
“Oh, I’m sure. But don’t you want to be _pampered_ , princess?” He purred. “Your every command obeyed?”

She squinted up at him. “Are you hitting on me? Now?”   
“…is it working?”   
“Kinda. Kinda tired though.”   
“Completely understandable. …can I keep playing with your hair?”   
“What is with you and my hair?” Bean asked.

“It’s soft.” Pendergast muttered. “…and it smells good. And… I like being gentle, with you at least. It makes me feel… good. About myself. Like there’s something on my hands other than blood.”   
“You should. Feel good, I mean. …I like it when you’re gentle with me.”   
“As I recall, you also like it when I’m rough with you.”   
“Sh, I’m tired. We can talk more tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drewgi: A welsh insult (translates roughly to smelly dog)   
> Fy nghariad gwyn: My white darling


	13. Everyone: Time for my Depression Speech (tm)

When Bean woke up, Pendergast was somehow sitting in a chair on her other side, but there was still a significant weight on his side of the bed.   
“You’re up.” Pendergast said.   
She buried herself in the covers. “Oh, God. How are you so good at figuring out when I wake up?”

“You scrunch your nose, and your breathing changes.” He noted absent-mindedly, turning a page. “It’s kind of obvious.”   
“And the books are…?”   
“I’m still going to teach you stuff, right?” He asked, somewhat shy.   
She sat up, and he flushed as the covers fell away. “Really?”

“…wait, did you think it was a tactic to seduce you?”   
Bean paused for a minute. “I mean… no, you’re a lot more honest when you want to fuck me. So what are we—”   
There was a knock at the door, and Pendergast threw a clean chemise at her from her bag. “Sounds like you have visitors.”   
“Help me put it on?” Bean asked softly.

He narrowed his eye at her, but acquiesced without further complaint. Yeah, she could get used to this. He then went to the door, and opened it. Blodeuwedd practically tumbled through.

Blodeuwedd held up a tray. “I brought soup! And Mum made a tea thing. Dandelion tea, I think. It’s good for you.”   
“Aw, thanks.” Bean said, taking the tray from her. “Uh… got any booze?”   
“Mum said you need to recover.” Blodeuweedd said seriously. Pendergast, meanwhile, had returned to his chair, the book open on his lap. He wasn’t even pretending to read it at that point.

“So that’s a no.” Bean sighed. “Thanks for the soup and tea.”   
“Of course!” Blodeuwedd said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “It’s the least we could do.”   
“This is so sweet. Thanks for coming by.” Bean took a sip of the dandelion tea.

“Well, I couldn’t just _leave_ you here, with only Penny for company!” Blodeuwedd said. “He’s probably going to make you read…” She picked up one of the books next to Bean with both hands, and squinted at it. “A Complete Compendium of the Laws of Dreamland, from its Inception to the Reign of Lavinia the First? _Penny_.”

“They’re useful things for her to know.” Pendergast said defensively.   
“Uh huh, and how are you going to teach them?”   
“She’ll read them, and memorize them, and that’s it. That’s how I learned.”   
Blodeuwedd opened it up to a random page. “And thus, it was in the eleventh month of the twelfth year in the reign of Ric the Second, it was declared that all horses must be shod in the land of Dreamland. If any man is found to be in possession of an unshod horse, he must pay a fine of three copper pieces. _Penny_ , I know she needs to rest, but this?”

“Shoeing horses is important.” Pendergast protested. “What, we can’t just have _unshod horses_.”   
Blodeuwedd narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you really memorize _that_?”   
“I have personally caught several men with unshod horses.” Pendergast deadpanned. “It’s a real plague in Dreamland.”   
“Yeah, I’m not going to learn that.” Bean said.

“It’s not that bad!” Pendergast said defensively.   
Blodeuwedd raised an eyebrow, and cracked open the book to another page. “And lo, in the first month of the first year in the reign of Lavinia the First, it was declared that men could not just kidnap a woman and defend the action as a form of marriage. If any man attempted to do so, he would be immediately thrown into the dungeons—”   
“To await trial.” Pendergast finished.

“Lavinia the First… that was Beebaw. It took _that_ long for that law to pass?” Bean curled up the blanket in her hands. “That’s…”   
Blodeuwedd shut the book. “Let’s not talk about that now.”   
“They never get to trial.” Pendergast said, turning his attention to the book in his lap. “There are always _accidents_.”   
“Accidents?” Bean repeated.

Pendergast turned a page in his book. “I always officially write them down as accidents, so they must be accidents. It’s _very_ unfortunate that I accidentally tripped and skewered the one we had in our dungeon last time. It was very clumsy of me. Right through the gut. Must have been _painful_ for him. I kept apologizing as he bled out. It was also very clumsy that the sword _twisted_. Anyway, let’s not talk about this while Bean’s meant to be _resting._ ”   
“Yeah.” Blodeuwedd looked at her hands. “…yeah.”

Bean put the tray to the side. “Hey, he can’t hurt you anymore. Or anyone else.”   
“Pendergast, take the tray further.” Blodeuwedd said. That was the only warning either of them got before Blodeuwedd launched herself at Bean, pulling her into a hug. “I am s-so _sorry_.”   
“Uh, for what?” Bean asked, looking at Pendergast with wide eyes. ‘Help me’ she mouthed.   
“Birdy, let the princess alone.” Pendergast said.

“No! We both almost _died_ because the stupid _flowers_ —because I was trying to pr-prove myself to Granny… he-he would have _killed you_ , because he was only interested in-in _me_.”   
“It’s fine. People try to kill me all the time. I’m always fine.” Bean pointed out. “…are _you_ okay?”   
Blodeuwedd nodded. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I just kept thinking about what if you hadn’t been there? What if he had…?”

“Hey, don’t think like that.” Bean said. “Agh, can you pull back? I can’t really look you in the eye like this.”   
Blodeuwedd did so, sniffling.   
“So you’re basically my sister now.”   
“Sister in law.” Blodeuwedd corrected.   
“I don’t remember asking her to marry me.” Pendergast muttered.

Bean shot him a wry look. “Pretty sure you did last night.”   
He looked up, blushing. “You never said yes.”   
“Yeah, because we _just_ —not the point. So, Birdy, you’re my sister now. I’m going to tell you something because of that. It’s… there’s a lot of stuff that could have gone wrong. But it _didn’t._ You’re here. I’m here. He’s—he’s _not_ , okay?”

Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes. “Have you ever… has anyone ever _threatened_ you like that?”   
Pendergast very obviously stopped reading—and when did Bean realize she could tell when he was and when he was pretending? Like she _knew_ him? …weird. Well, she _did_ know him, but—this was getting off-track.   
“Not… like that.” Bean said. “I’ve been threatened in other ways—mostly people trying to kill me. Or marry me. Or feed me to a monster. Or use me to collect a debt from hell. And if someone ever made a comment I could just… kick them in the dick.”   
“Is it… is it _my fault_?” Blodeuwedd asked.

“No.” Pendergast finally broke in. “No, I’ve processed a lot of reports about men like Marlowe. There’s no commonality between their victims, besides the fact that they were preyed upon. It’s nothing you did. There is nothing that anyone in this room could have done that could have prevented this outcome.”

Blodeuwedd’s mouth twisted into a grim line. “Don’t… don’t make me think about what might have been like that.”   
“All I’m saying is—” Pendergast said.   
Blodeuwedd retreated to the door. “I know what you’re saying! I know what you mean! But you’re the one who nearly got your precious princess killed by trying to protect her! …sorry, Bean.”

“Eh, he’s called me worse.” Bean said, reaching for the tray again.   
“What do you mean?” Pendergast demanded.   
“The Dreamland guards delayed any incoming transit from Bentwood, so flower seller was caught on the roads after dark, so they took his oxen, so we went looking for them!” Blodeuwedd snarled. “And he specifically said that they were acting on orders from their _commanding officer_ —who just so _happened_ to be on vacation.”

“This is not a vacation.” Pendergast deadpanned. “And _that_ was because there was the possibility of armed soldiers—”   
“You are _such_ an idiot!” Blodeuwedd screamed. “You don’t care, do you? Do you think it would have _mattered_ if she was dead at the hands of some Bentwood soldier if Marlowe had already killed her?! With Marlowe you would have lost us _both_. Again, sorry, Bean. You’re just… kind of a central part of this.”

“Again, none taken. You have a point.” Bean conceded, eating some more soup. It was good soup.   
“I have _never_ done anything but try and protect you.” Pendergast snapped.   
“No, all you care about is _her_!” Blodeuwedd snapped back.   
“As _I_ recall, she saved your life—not to mention your virtue—all because you decided that you didn’t need to take either of your older brothers who can actually fight along for protection!”

“Well, she’s kicked _your_ ass. I saw Thomas last night. By process of elimination, she’s better than both of you! Marlowe definitely planned on keeping her alive longer than he would have you or Thomas.”   
Bean made a face. “I think he was just kind of… distracted. I mean, what was he even going to do with me?”   
“Slavery’s legal in Bentwood. Get across the border, and he’d make a pretty penny.” Pendergast snapped. “Unless of course, he realized who you were and tried to get the royal family to take you off of his hands for money.”

“Yeah, I don’t really think Marlowe was smart enough to recognize the princess. He had a kind of animal cunning.” Blodeuwedd said. “But that’s not the _point_. The point is, you’ve forgotten about _consequences_.”   
Pendergast scoffed. “I know about _consequences_. What the fuck was I supposed to do, Birdy? You think you’d fare any better in open war? No one saves anybody in war. _You_ should have stayed here and let _us_ handle it.”

“Blodeuwedd, not Birdy! Because I’m not a fucking _canary_ in a cage! I should be able to leave the walls of my home and not get raped by the second stranger we meet!”   
“Third. We technically met George first.” Bean pointed out.   
“George was an accessory!” Blodeuwedd snapped. “I’m not a fragile bird in a cage, big brother! You’re supposed to be protecting _everybody_ , not just her! She doesn’t need you!”

“ _Out_.” Pendergast growled. “Now.”   
“Gladly.” Blodeuwedd slammed the door behind her.   
“You don’t need to be like that.” Bean told him.   
He whirled on her. “So do you think I’m responsible for that man’s actions as well?! That I’ve _failed_ in my duty?”

Bean scowled at him. “I think you’re overprotective, yeah.”   
Pendergast scoffed. “Oh? About who? The love of my life nearly being murdered and thrown into a ditch yesterday? Or about my baby sister who nearly got raped by a highwayman?!”   
“Don’t use that fucking word, and it wouldn’t have ended like that anyway! And it didn’t!”   
“And you think that’s because of anything other than sheer dumb luck? Like every time you risk your life like this?! You think you can just do this _every time_ and it doesn’t fucking matter?!”

Bean scoffed, flopping back into her pillows. “What, isn’t that exactly what your family said about you?”   
He growled, leaning forward on the bed. “ _I_ am a highly trained knight. One of many. _You_ are… you’re _Bean_.”   
“Don’t be fucking _sappy_ right now, I’m mad at you.”   
“Yeah? Get in line. So, tell me, what do you do with a useless knight?” Pendergast ground out. “One who can’t protect his princess—yes, _my_ princess _,_ stop making that face— who can’t protect _anyone_?!”

Bean got out of bed and approached him. “You are _such_ an idiot.”   
Pendergast crossed his arms. “You never answered my question.”   
“You’re not responsible for this! Stop making this about _you_!” Bean growled. “She’s _scared_ and she just wants someone to tell her it’s all okay! That’s what she needs you for! That’s what _I_ need you for! Because I can handle myself, but you always have my back. You—you always have _control_ , more or less—I’ve never seen you scared.”

“That’s because it was dark.” Pendergast snorted. “Trust me, I faced my greatest foe down in this very room.”   
Bean glared up at him. “Stop trying to be cute. I’m mad at you.”   
“I know. So, is my only purpose to _please_ you, princess?”   
“No, you fucking idiot.” Bean poked him in the shoulder with her uninjured hand. “You’re a good knight—not like that. Marlowe is a fucking creep, and he’s _not your fault_. And I know it’s your job to protect me but—”

“It’s all I am! I couldn’t protect them, and I can’t protect you—so what am I? What _good_ is a hired sword who can’t even do his fucking job?!”   
She tackled him. “You are going to _listen_ to me, Pendergast ap Arwel ap Maredudd! Did I say that right?”   
“You… did. You were listening?”   
She glared down at him. “Doesn’t matter, it was a trick question.”

He smiled up at her. “You _remembered_ —”   
She leaned in close. “Not. The. Point. Right. Now. Ah ah ah, focus. This isn’t sexy right now, so tell your dick to calm down. You’re not just _a_ knight. You’re the Knight Captain. You wanna know why? ‘Cause when you’re not throwing yourself a pity party, you’re actually pretty fucking capable. You’re one of the only people I know at the castle who’s actually _good_ at their job. …and also Miri, I guess. That’s _two_ people, and yours is a lot more dangerous than hers. Because you know what? Rhoswen was right. Whenever you’re protecting me, you’re putting yourself in danger. And it’s a dangerous job. I don’t like that. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“As if _I_ want to see you hurt?” He snapped.   
Bean leaned back. “No. But this? This is also hurting. You’re more than a hired sword, and you know it. You’re not fucking _replaceable_.”   
Pendergast sat up. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, and it was delivered in one of your angriest tones.”   
“Yeah, I’m pissed at you! Birdy’s scared, and she’s lashing out because of it!”

“I was unaware you were such an _expert_ in insight.”   
“She’s kind of easy to read, Pen. She’s… I don’t know. She’s kind of like me, but she isn’t? I get her. She’s like… if I had a sister, and she was actually cool. So, yeah, I kind of get it, I guess? …yesterday was scary. For both of us. And I…” Bean leaned against a bedpost. “You keep talking about how much I matter instead of you, but you’re… I’m not a good person.”

“ _What_.” Pendergast said flatly. “Who told you that? I’ll kill them.”   
“Pfft, _I_ said that. You gonna kill me?” She flashed him a smile. He didn’t smile back.   
Bean looked at her hands. “Look, I… you shouldn’t blame Birdy, and you shouldn’t blame yourself. For yesterday, I mean. Even if the cart was delayed because of… you were just trying to protect me. ‘Cause I was the one who pissed off Bentwood. I’m the one who makes your life hell, and dangerous and... I’ve killed people, Pen. Some by accident, some… not by accident. Like Aunt Becky, and Uncle Cloyd. And… I’d kill Marlowe all over again. Who _does_ that?”

There was a pause for a minute, then Pendergast said, “I’ve killed more people. You… you get used to it. After a while. ‘Cause it’s what I’m good at, you know? People expect it of me.”   
Bean scoffed. “Yeah? I think… I think people kinda expect it of me too. Like I can just walk it off. Or if I don’t, I’m just a hysterical woman. I’m cursed. I don’t even regret Guysbert, or Hansel and Gretel, or Sven and the Vikings, or Big Joe, or… or Cloyd and Becky. Or Marlowe. I’m just… empty inside. And that’s why you shouldn’t _love_ me.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “Tough. You’re not empty inside, at least, not any more than I am.”   
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s different. You’re different. You’re… sweet. Good. I mess up everything I touch.”   
“And I don’t?”   
“No, you don’t.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck, enjoying his scent. Wood smoke, rain, and juniper, underneath it all. “You make things better.”

“I really don’t. I just do the paperwork, you do the adventures.”   
He still wasn’t getting it. …she didn’t want him to see how bad she was, not really. She’d tried to tell Lynette, but… “My own mother didn’t want me. No one wants me.”   
“I want you.” He said softly. “As you are—well, I wish your arm was healed, but… as you are. Dagmar’s not an indication of what you’re really like. She’s not you—and just because she’s an evil bitch doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you because _she’s_ not a good mother.”

“I wish I had your mom.” Bean admitted.   
“I do not.” Pendergast said. “Not only would you have to deal with Arwel, you would then be my sister.”   
Bean pulled away and looked at him, then laughed. “Not like _that_ , you idiot! But just… I wish my mom loved me the way yours loves you. Where it’s… I can’t really explain it.”   
“Having met both, you don’t need to. Like I said, Dagmar’s an evil bitch and a bad mother—don’t make that face. She turned me to stone. I don’t like her. …As for Mum… Mum tried to protect us. It didn’t work out well for her either.”

“You keep saying you failed at protecting people. What the _hell_ are you talking about?”   
Pendergast leaned back. “And here I thought I was quite clear about my father.”   
Bean crinkled her nose. “Yeah, Dads suck, they’re just like that some—”   
“Your father has never raised a hand to you.” Pendergast said. “He’s had me _restrain_ you. He’s locked you in your room, or somewhere else. He’s yelled at you. But he has never _hit_ you.”   
“Oh.” Bean said in a small voice. “He…?”

“Mum, mostly. Thomas more than me.” Pendergast said. “…not Birdy. At least, not while I was here, because I did my best to keep her quiet. Even if your father’s praise is sparse, it’s still praise. It’s not just… my point about this was that even if Mum tried, and failed, she still tried. And… it’s not always enough. I’m not enough.”

“You’re enough for me.” Bean said. “And hey, no, it’s _my_ turn for a pity party.”   
“It’s not a pity party.” Pendergast scoffed.   
Bean raised an eyebrow. “It’s a pity party, and I’m the guest of honor right now.”   
“I’d give you the floor to speak, but you’ll just turn it into more lies about how awful you are. I know I’m not lying about myself, because I currently don’t have a headache.” Pendergast said, almost triumphant.

Bean narrowed her eyes at him. “Doesn’t count.”   
“I think it does.”   
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s what you _think_ is true, and it isn’t. It’s not true about you, I mean.”   
“This is confusing.” Pendergast said. “Can we go back to discussing unshod horses?”  
“No, what I mean is… just because you _think_ something’s true, doesn’t mean it is. Blodeuwedd keeps calling me her sister in law—we’re not married. You keep saying you’re a piece of shit, and that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“…Blodeuwedd legitimately thinks we’re married?” Pendergast asked. “What the _hell_ did you say to her yesterday?”   
“ _That’s_ your take-away from this?!”   
“You’re using it as an example! But… I see your point. Kind of, I guess. I guess you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours, and we’ll both think the other is amazing. Deal?”   
“That seems kind of like a bandaid solution, but okay.” Bean grinned at him. “Hey, help me back to bed?”

“Oh, God, of course.” He gathered her in his arms.   
“Not actually dying.” Bean told him. “You can stop looking like someone ran over your cat.”   
He slung her weight from arm to arm. “Oh?”

She laughed. “ _Pen_! Put me down!”  
“Your wish is my command.” She went sailing onto the bed, where she landed, unscathed and laughing. “You are _such_ a dick.”   
He placed a hand on his chest in mock shock. “But I was just following orders, princess. Perhaps in the future you should be a bit more specific.”

She made a face at him, before they both gave in to laughter.

Meanwhile, Blodeuwedd had stormed out, and ended up in her mother’s garden.   
“Oh.” A soft, not-Lynette voice had said. “Are you alright?”   
Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes—and yes, there was Alice. “M’fine.”   
“May I sit with you on that bench?” Alice asked.

“I… fine.” Blodeuwedd muttered, letting Alice take her by the hand. “What’re you doing here?”   
“Lady Lynette was showing me the parts I could have for my flower garden.” Alice said softly. “I think if I get the roses right, they can last a long, long time. Far past our lives.”   
Blodeuwedd relaxed slightly. She could talk plants, but… “Please don’t call Mum that.”

“Why?” Alice asked.   
“…we’re not… _fancy_. Like you, or Auntie Hannah, or Granny. It sounds like a mockery—that’s why I didn’t like it.” Blodeuwedd admitted.   
“I’m sorry.” Alice said. “I didn’t realize.”   
“It’s fine, it’s not you, it’s… Uncle, and Auntie Hannah, and David, after he started being a twat, and Rachel.” Blodeuwedd gestured widely.

“He’s not a twat.” Alice said firmly.   
“Not with you around, he’s not. You’re good for him.” Blodeuwedd admitted. “…I think I was kind of mad about that as well, because after Penny left, he was my best friend. And then he grew up a bit more, and started listening to Uncle, and… I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.”

“People say I’m a good listener.” Alice said softly. “It’s not necessarily a _ladylike_ virtue—”   
“You know what I hate about myself?!” Blodeuwedd interrupted, wiping at her eyes. “If I was more like you, more like the granddaughter Granny wanted, I wouldn’t have—Bean wouldn’t have gotten hurt because of me. It’s all my fault.”   
“Ah.” Alice said softly, rubbing circles into Blodeuwedd’s hand. “But we both agree Bean’s amazing, right? Why wouldn’t you want to be like her?”

“I’m _not_ like her, I’m just… I’m just _me_.” Blodeuwedd said, wiping at her eyes with her other hand. “And I’m—I said a lot of hurtful things to Penny. I said a lot of hurtful things to _you_ —why are you being so nice to me?”   
Alice shrugged. “You’ve been nice to me ever since a few days ago.”   
“Stop being nice.” Blodeuwedd snapped. “It makes me feel like more of a bitch.”

“No.” Alice said placidly, smiling.   
Blodeuwedd watched her for a minute, then laughed. “Alice, you’re wasted here at the edge of the world.”   
“I like it here.” Alice replied.

“Yeah, it’s nice enough, but for your whole life?” Blodeuwedd shook her head. “You deserve better. I know you and David _love_ each other, it’s very sweet, but you deserve to have someone see how witty you are, not just how dainty and demure.”   
“Isn’t it enough that you see it?” Alice asked.

“No, for reasons I’ve already said.” Blodeuwedd said, before looking at Alice thoughtfully. “Didn’t you say something about wanting to travel with David?”   
“I… yes. But such a thing would be impossible.” Alice said, fidgeting as daintily as possible.   
Blodeuwedd shrugged. “Not really. There are things you could do. Stay on the main roads, for one. Go before the wedding for another.”   
“Wh… but what about the wedding?” Alice said, jaw dropping.

Blodeuwedd cracked her neck. “The way I see it, you can do what _you_ want. I’ll support it—you’re not the stuck up bitch I thought you were. …Sorry, by the way. But if you’re ever going to challenge Auntie Hannah in your own right, let alone Granny, you’ve got to realize; _fuck them_.”   
“I will _not_ have sex with my mother in law!” Alice said, aghast.   
“Not like that!” Blodeuwedd said. “Fuck their opinions! If there’s anything I know, it’s that.”

“Thank you, Blodeuwedd. …you should be a little less hard on yourself, you know. I think it’s what makes you…” Alice gestured vaguely. “Lash out.”   
Blodeuwedd snorted. “You’re probably right. …don’t tell anyone. I have to keep my reputation as the smartest Griffiths.”   
“I fear that may change once David and I are properly married.” Alice said demurely.   
Blodeuwedd nodded, before her brain caught up with her, and she grinned. “ _There_ we go! …can we talk about stuff other than me?”

“Of course!” Alice clasped her hands together. “We could discuss plants, we both like those.”   
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Blodeuwedd smiled gently, and followed Alice deeper into the garden. “Whatever makes you happy, anyway.”


	14. Rhoswen PLEASE you're embarrassing them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we got smut again. (Fun fact! There's more smut in this story than any other story I've written.) It's also kinkier than usual (there's some spanking). If that's not your thing, skip from "You stand accused of grand larceny, how do you plead?" (if you don't want the spanking, but you want the smut, skip to "Now. It's-it's an order.") if you don't want the smut _at all_ skip to 'By the way she was panting, she was done too'.

“This is _boring_.” Bean scoffed.   
Pendergast leaned back in his chair. “What part?”   
“All of it! Pen, can’t we do something else?”   
He hummed noncommittally. “Aren’t you meant to be on bed rest? It’s the perfect time for you to catch up on the laws of the kingdom.”

Bean shot him an annoyed look. “I don’t need to know how many goats it’s legal for anyone but the king to own.”   
“Five.” Pendergast supplied helpfully. “Per person in the household.”   
Bean glared at him. “I know all the laws that matter!”   
Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you do? Why not continue to pretend you have plausible deniability?”   
She scrunched up her face at him. “C’mon, man. You know I break all the laws anyway.”

“Incorrect, I have never seen you with any number of goats _or_ an unshod horse.” Pendergast grinned, before his eye slid over to her. “Unless, of course, you’re _asking_ for some sort of punishment from me?”   
Bean squirmed. “What kind of punishment?”   
He licked his lips. “The spanking kind. The kind with your wrists tied. The kind where you’re going to be dripping wet.”

“On the bed?”   
“Eventually. Easier to tie your wrists to the bedpost if you’re not in it. …just plead guilty if you want me to stop.”   
Bean nodded, and hopped out of bed. Pendergast smirked and followed her, tying her wrists to the bed post with a bit of extra bandages.

“Too tight?” He breathed in her ear, before biting the earlobe.   
“Ngh… I’ll show you tight…” She did try to pull at the restraints, though.   
“Please do.” Pendergast then stepped back, and cleared his throat. “Princess Tiabeanie, you stand accused of crimes against Dreamland. How do you plead?”   
“Not guilty?” Bean tried.   
Pendergast nodded, and slowly began to circle her. “You stand accused of grand larceny. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.” She gasped at the swat.   
“Good?” He asked.

“Good. Keep-keep going.”   
“You stand accused of _petty_ larceny.” This time he ran his hands over her hips, waiting for her response.  
“Not guilty.” She arched up against him as the second one landed.   
“Ah ah ah, princess. We’re not done yet.” Pendergast purred as she looked up at him. “You stand accused of public indecency.” This time, he played with her clit while he waited for a response.

“Not guilty.”   
He used his free hand to spank her, fingers still circling her clit as she leaned against him.   
“You stand accused of horse thievery, princess.” He looked down, and bit back a grin. Her ass was getting very red, very fast.   
“Not guilty.”   
So was her face, all _flushed_ and excited. Had she looked like this last time?   
“You stand accused of the destruction of property.”   
“Not guilty.” She gasped out. Mm, he’d have to work a bit harder…

“You stand accused of manslaughter.”   
“Definitely not guilty.”   
“ _Definitely_?” Pendergast asked. “It’s not nice to lie in court, princess. That’s perjury, and that’s two crimes.”   
He grabbed her ass and pulled her to him, teasing her, before finally giving into the anticipation and giving her the spanking.

“Agh—how far are you going to go with this?” Bean asked.   
“As far as you want me to. Which reminds me—attempted murder?”   
“Not guilty.” She inhaled through her teeth when the swat came, and pulled against the bedpost towards him.   
“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself. Especially when you’re standing trial for… hm, I’ve run out of crimes for a minute. Let me think…”

“Maybe I’m not actually a criminal.” Bean scoffed.   
“Oh, I never said that, princess. Right now, you’re standing trial for the obstruction of justice.”   
“That’s not a thing.”   
“Oh, it is.” Pendergast bit back another grin. “So, how do you plead?”   
“N-not guilty.” She twitched as his free hand kept swirling around her. God, she was so _wet_.

“Are you _sure_ , princess? I’m sure the charges could be dropped.”   
She whined. “And you called me a tease.”   
He hummed a reply as he kissed her neck. “I’m beginning to see the appeal. Now, about dropping those _charges_?”   
“No thanks. I have an in with the Knight Captain, and if he can’t get me out of this, no one can.” She managed to get out.

“Are you saying you want to be here, princess? Being punished for all your crimes?”   
“I’m not saying no. Ah—I said _not guilty_.”   
He bit down on her neck. “A glutton for punishment, are we?”   
“Pen—ah!” She didn’t anticipate that swat either.

“Princess Tiabeanie,” he said her name in a sing-song voice, curling the words around his mouth. “You stand accused of resisting arrest. How do you plead?”   
“Not guilty.” She was trembling now. His fingers were _soaked_.   
“No? Then why has it taken me so long to _catch_ you?” He nipped at her ear.

“D-didn’t know how much I wanted to get caught—Pen _please_ stop teasing.” She begged. “I want…”   
“Mm?”   
“I want—ah!” He dipped a finger in, reveling in her reaction.  
“You need to speak up, princess.”

“I want you to fuck me before I start grinding into your hand.” She growled.   
He leaned against her. “Well… there might be something _else_ you can grind into… though I imagine you’re feeling rather _sensitive_ in more than one respect.”   
“Pen.” She whined. “Fuck me. _Please_?”   
“Fuck you _how_?”

“H-hard. Rough. Now. _Please_.”   
He curled his fingers into her, and she ground out, “ _Now._ It’s—it’s an order.”   
And then he acquiesced. He freed himself from all those troublesome clothes, and then pushed into her from behind. She nearly cried out from relief, rocking back into him.   
“Lust is a sin, princess.” One of his hands held onto her waist, bracing her against him as he fucked her. The other snaked up underneath her chemise, pinching and playing with her breast. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? You’re a good girl.”

“Nngh… really, truly not. And I’d say you’re a good boy, but— _agh_ —you’re a tease.”   
“Now, now. Don’t be rude. If you’re rude, you don’t get to cum.” It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.   
“Mm… _sorry_.” She gasped as he bit her other ear lobe, a bit harder than he had done before.

“Don’t be _sorry_ , just remember who you’re _fucking_.”   
“You want me to say your name again?” She guessed, as he fucked her hard and deep, feeling her tighten around him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck—he couldn’t reply to her, or she’d hear his voice tremble with lust.   
“Mm…” He finally hummed in response. “Maybe it’s time to untie you…”   
“No.” He could practically hear the pout, and grinned.

“Not entirely. Just enough to turn you around, look at your pretty face while I fuck you.”   
“Aw, you think I’m pretty?”   
“I think you’re gorgeous. I think the only thing that could possibly improve your looks is my cock in your mouth.” Pendergast pulled at the knot tying her to the bedpost, bracing for when she pulled back against him.

Within seconds, he had repositioned her to be making eye contact, her wrists still otherwise bound.   
“Now, how do you want to be fucked, princess?” He asked softly, his hands supporting her fully.   
Bean licked her lips. “…against the wall.”   
Pendergast smirked. “Alright then. Is that a royal order? Because last I checked, I was the one calling the shots right now, princess.”   
“You like being in charge, don’t you Pen?” Bean gasped, before she was caught between him and the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, settling onto him.   
“I like taming a bit of chaos. And I am given to understand you like a bit of taming, princess.” He growled, before biting her shoulder. “ _Mine_.”

She shivered, her hands high above her head. “I’m _not_.”   
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then who do you belong to?”   
“ _Me_.” She hissed, before arching towards him. “That—that doesn’t mean I want you to _stop_ …”  
“Hmm. True. So what am I, _princess_? Your fuck toy? Your personal whore?”

“I wouldn’t mind calling you either of those things.” She admitted.   
The eyebrow stayed up. “Ac ni fyddai ots gen i dy alw di'n wraig.”   
“Dirty talking in Welsh isn’t _fair_.” She whined. She didn’t want him to stop.   
He began trailing gentle kisses on her shoulders that did not match up with how ruthlessly he was fucking her. Admittedly, she liked the dual sensations—he knew she did, by the way she tightened, and ground her teeth, and panted so prettily for him.

“Rwy'n dy garu di. Yn fwy na dim. Ni allaf adael i chi fynd. Rydych chi wedi difetha fi am unrhyw un arall.” He purred in her ear, his hands digging into her thighs as he fucked her hard and fast, the way he knew she liked.   
“ _Yes_ …” She gasped. “ _More_.”   
He nipped at her jaw underneath her ear, before pulling back. “Nid chi yw fy un i, ond yr wyf yn perthyn i chwi.” Pendergast then pulled her into a deep, urgent kiss— hands pushing her _up_ , hips moving in tandem with hers.

God, she was so slick, so _hot_ , so _tight_ … he could see every inch of her through that white silk chemise, and he loved it. He loved how she was panting and flushed and begging for _him_. And a dark part of him was very satisfied with how her thighs would bruise, how his bites would bloom on her neck and ears and shoulders and lips. How her ass was probably still red from her _punishment_.

“Enjoying yourself, princess?”   
“Yes.” She gasped out.   
“Hmm… you don’t sound incoherent yet. Bed?”

She nodded, clinging to what little she could of him with her hands tied like that, and he slowly brought her to the bed, before pushing down into her.   
She gasped, and tried to scratch at his back and draw him closer, restraints be damned.   
With a low chuckle, he easily pinned her wrists up, and began slowly teasing her with his free hand.

“ _Pen_.” She whined. “Harder. Faster.”   
“Mm… you have to be nice to me first.”   
“I’m nice!” She protested, before closing her eyes. “Ah…!”   
“Not nice enough.” She was all spread out before him—what to play with first? Ah, yes… he moved her chemise up and bit her breast gently.

The way she gasped and spasmed was definitely worth it, especially when he felt her clench and feel _so good_ …   
She licked her lips, and God, did he want to kiss those too. “Please?”   
“I told you before, good girls remember who they’re fucking.” He applied a bit more pressure to her wrists as _incentive_ , and she bit her lip. “And I also told you, I like it when you moan for me, princess.”

“Mm… _Pen_. Please!”   
“Unfortunately, my name’s a bit longer, princess.”   
“ _Sir Pendergast_ , please let me cum!”   
_Well_. That certainly got his attention. He moved his hand back from her wrists, pulling back a bit—to fuck deep and hard and fast into her. She was a mess—white hair splayed underneath her like a halo, her one piece of clothing pushed up for his access, reddened mouth calling out his name _again and again_ , all for him, and her wet cunt squeezing his cock. Perfect.

“I love seeing you like this.” He admitted, because this was the kind of admission she would accept in English. “All ready and _begging_ for me to fuck you.”   
“I— _ah_ —I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I’ve been begging for a while now.”   
“Oh, I’ve been paying attention.” He purred. “How many times now, princess?”

“I wasn’t counting.” She whined. That made one of them. One hand moved back down, playing with her, making her _ever_ so loud. He loved it when she got loud, especially since she was very much becoming an incoherent mess. “Pen-Pen-Pen-Pen, _yes_ , _there_ —my good knight, my Pen, my best knight, _please, more_ , _Pen_.” She rambled, eyes squeezing shut as he fucked her again and again, wrists fighting the restraints so she could try and mark him too. Maybe next time.

“You’re damn right I’m the best knight.” He growled. “What’s my name, _Tiabeanie_?”   
“Pendergast, _Pendergast_ , now _please_ just let me cum again!” She practically screamed.   
He pulled her closer, pulling on her hair and grinding his teeth as he focused entirely on how she _felt_ underneath him. That’s when he realized he was chanting it. “Mor dda, mor dda, _mor dda Tiabeanie_ …” And then all the tightly wound tension in him finally _released_ , spilling into her, filling her.

By the way she was quietly panting, she was done too.   
“Do you want me to untie you now?” He muttered in her ear as they shifted onto the bed properly, him curling protectively around her.   
She nodded, and he made quick work of the knot, kissing her bruised wrists. “Sorry, I made it too tight.”   
“Nah, they were already like that.” She snuggled into his chest.

He froze, and she sighed. “I can hear you overthinking. It’s fine, if it’s you. I like it when it’s you. …I think that’s true for a lot of stuff, actually.”   
He traced circles into her skin. “I… broke the rule. I… said it in Welsh.”

“I know.” Bean muttered. “Alice mentioned it’s one of the few Welsh phrases she knows.”   
“…you don’t mind?” Pendergast asked softly.   
“…not that much. I didn’t realize it at first.” Bean replied. “Hey, teach me more Welsh?”   
“I could just say more to you, and leave you to figure it out. Like the laws.” Pendergast grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Mae'ch gwallt yn hyfryd. Rwyf hefyd yn caru eich gwên. Rwy'n arbennig o hoff o'ch brychni haul.”

Bean scrunched up her nose. “What did you say?”   
“Mm… not telling.” He kissed a purpling bite gently to avoid meeting her eyes and having it drawn out.   
“Was it bad?” She pressed anyway.

He snorted. “No, I say _those_ things in English. How else will you learn?”   
She rolled her eyes. “Asshole.”   
He grinned into her neck. “Dymuniad fy nghalon.”   
“I’ll ask Birdy.”   
“Go right ahead, fy nhrysor. Can you remember it all?” Pendergast teased.

“Can you?” Bean huffed.   
“Hmm… pretty sure I proposed at one point and you accidentally said yes…”   
“That doesn’t count, I didn’t know what it was!” She protested.   
He met her eyes. “I know. I wouldn’t use the language barrier to trick you into marriage. Do you really think so low of me?”   
“I… no. I don’t.” Bean admitted, flushing slightly with shame.

He curled into her, savoring the warmth. “I also said a lot of general ‘I love yous’. Praised you.”   
“You should have said _that_ in English.”   
He raised his head slightly to look at her. “Well, Tiabeanie, I never knew how much you wanted _praise_ from me.”   
She rolled so she wasn’t looking at him, and he drew her back to him, resting his head on her shoulder to wait for her answer.

“I don’t want it as bad as you do.” She finally said.   
“But you like it when I call you a good girl?” He tried. “My gorgeous, wonderful princess? When I point out that you’re bright like a star in every way possible?”   
“Pfft, _stop_.” She said.   
“Mm… you haven’t said guilty yet. That I couldn’t be happier that _you_ picked _me_ for anything, let alone this? That I love your smile, and your kind heart, and I respect the hell out of you when you’re standing up to me, even if I don’t agree and it just makes me want to plow you into the nearest surface?” He planted a kiss on her shoulder.

She laughed. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m fucking you.”   
“I’m sorry, I was unaware that I was able to lie in the last five minutes just because I love you.”   
“…guilty.” She whispered.   
He pulled away—just in time, because there was a knock on the door. They shared a panicked look, and Bean practically dived under the covers, while Pendergast hastily pulled on his brailles and breeches.

He cracked the door open just enough to peer out. “Hello, Granny. Um, Bean is resting right now—she’s very much recovering, you know.”   
Bean gave a fake cough.   
Rhoswen raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? I was unaware that you lacking a shirt could speed her path to recovery.”

“I… it’s hot.” Pendergast said quickly.   
“It’s March.” Rhoswen said drily. “And I cannot think of any decent action you could have been doing to work up a sweat in there.”   
“I… sit ups.” Pendergast said quickly.   
“Pendergast, were you actually doing sit-ups, or were you committing sins in the eyes of God?”   
“I don’t think it was a sin, Granny.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. I will pray for both of your souls. Especially yours—good Lord, Pendergast. Do you know what bed rest means? Specifically the rest portion?” Rhoswen quirked an eyebrow, and Pendergast flushed. “I wouldn’t—I would never hurt her.”   
“Oh, blessed be the saints, I won’t have to push you out of a window as well.” Rhoswen snapped. “No, you fool. This is how I ended up with your father while your uncle was still at my breast—Maredudd _also_ couldn’t control himself while I was on bedrest. I would hate for your Tiabeanie to have two babies at once because of your foolishness.”

“ _Please_ don’t talk about your breasts, or _that_ with Grandpapa.” Pendergast begged.   
“Perhaps you should have thought about those things before you dishonored this young woman.” Rhoswen said. Bean sounded like she was having a coughing fit behind Pendergast, and he stared at the ceiling.   
“Either you have committed the sin of lust under my roof, or you have lied to me, which is far worse.” Rhoswen hissed. “Shirt, boots, confession, _now_. And pray that God forgives you, because He is meant to be far more forgiving than I.”

Pendergast quickly gathered his shirt and boots and left, mouthing ‘sorry’ at Bean. Rhoswen immediately swept in, shutting the door behind her.   
“I really am sick.” Bean said weakly, trying to bury herself under the covers as much as possible.   
“I can see the hickey on your neck.” Rhoswen said bluntly.

Bean flushed. “It’s not his fault.”   
“I was not speaking in English for Pendergast’s benefit.” Rhoswen replied, giving Bean a level look. “And neither of my sons were conceived without my consent.”   
“…what did you mean about shoving someone out the window?” Bean asked.   
Rhoswen twisted her mouth. Bean couldn’t tell if she was pissed or trying to smile. “I’m sorry, but you must be a grandchild of mine longer than a week to learn that information. Blodeuwedd still has not done so, neither have David, or Rachel. I only assumed Pendergast knows because Thomas talks to him, even if they’re spitting insults at one another.”

“Thomas is a dick.” Bean replied.   
Rhoswen inclined her head, conceding the point. “Regardless, I did not come here to discuss my grandchildren’s failings with you. I came to thank you for the protection of Blodeuwedd.”   
“It’s fine. I just did what anyone would have.” Bean said.

Rhoswen watched her for a minute, before approaching the bed. “I suppose.” She ran her hand over the book of laws, then eventually said, “Did you know that your grandmother and I were good friends, Tiabeanie?”   
“I… what?” Bean said.   
Rhoswen kept her eyes on the book. “She described you as such a lonely child in her letters. I’m glad you’re not lonely anymore.”

“So you knew who I was the whole time?” Bean demanded.   
Rhoswen shrugged. “I didn’t realize who you were until you were standing in front of me with Lavinia’s face. But yes, since then.” She gently, reverently, ran her hand over the book. “Have you read this?”   
“Not really?” Bean said. “Why?”

“Because there is a law in there, regarding kidnapping being a crime instead of the basis for a marriage.” Rhoswen said slowly. “And Lavinia passed that for me.”   
Bean felt cold. “What?”   
Rhoswen slowly met her eyes. “I see so much of her in you that it hurts. Yesterday, when I heard what happened, I… it felt like history was repeating itself all over again. But I wasn’t as lucky as Blodeuwedd. Lavinia wasn’t with me at the time. And legally, I was now that _thing’s_ property, since he claimed I was his wife now.”

“That’s _crazy_!” Bean snapped.   
Rhoswen smiled wryly. “That’s exactly what Lavinia said. So she said that no, I wasn’t his wife. She kept him alive long enough for me to see him hanged, but then… then I was broken. Used. No one wanted me, everyone was waiting to see if I was carrying his child. I wasn’t, I had drank so much pennyroyal I’d nearly vomited it up. My family were—are—powerful, but I was essentially worthless. I was married off to Maredudd, since he was the only one who would have me. And here we are.”

“That… I’m so sorry.” Bean said.   
Rhoswen waved her hand. “My marriage was serviceable to Maredudd at first, but then it became passionate. …unfortunately, math isn’t my grandson’s greatest strength, he should be halfway to the chapel before he realizes that there is a three year, ten month age difference between his uncle and his father rather than nine months.”   
Bean cracked a small smile, before it dropped. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if you are ever in charge of your family’s accounts, you should be warned not to leave Pendergast alone with math.” Rhoswen said coolly.   
“Not that. The other thing.”   
“Oh. That. Well, I wanted you to know that Lavinia was proud of you, and if she was still alive, she would be _so fiercely proud_. She loved you a lot, and it is easy to see why.”

Bean wiped at her eyes. “Th-thanks.”   
Rhoswen shrugged. “It’s nothing but the truth. Your father may think that Lavinia was a demure woman, but truly, she was a powerhouse. I miss the pace of court life.”   
“It’s… not that fast.” Bean said.   
Rhoswen looked to the ceiling. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t be. Lavinia’s younger son was never meant to assume the throne. I will refrain from political commentary, since he’s your father.”

“Wait, how do you speak Welsh like that if you married your husband because you had to?” Bean asked.   
Rhoswen raised an eyebrow. “Well, Welsh _is_ my mother tongue, if that’s what you’re asking. My maiden name is Ifans, often anglicized to Evans. We’ve intermarried with Wales just as much as the Griffiths.”   
Bean stared at her blankly. “And that means…?”   
Rhoswen sighed. “My nephew is the duke of Twinkletown.”

“ _Ohhhh_.” Bean said. “That guy.”   
“I assure you, Pendergast’s pedigree is quite assured, if that’s what you’re worried about. …besides whatever forest woman his maternal grandfather found and got a child on.” Rhoswen did not hold back the eye-roll that time. “It takes a certain kind of woman to abandon her daughter.”

Bean flinched. “Ha ha… yeah…”   
Rhoswen sighed. “You do realize I am also in contact with Elena Lingonberry, yes? We were both friends with your grandmother—her own mini-court.”   
“I don’t know who that is either.” Bean admitted.   
“Boed i Saint Cadoc fy arwain.” Rhoswen muttered. “You once stole her carriage and nearly drowned her. That warlock your father employs killed her husband by trying to regrow his hair and applying the blood of a magical creature.” Rhoswen crossed herself.

“Oh, _that_ Lady Lingonberry.” Bean said weakly. “Did she have anything nice to say, or… is it just… you know, the _bad_ stuff?”   
Rhoswen quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm. She mentioned the mother, and later the stone nonsense. Her last letter to me was about how my grandson was willing to murder a defenseless woman—your stepmother, if you need the context— for you.”   
Bean cringed. “Oh, God, that’s right. The Oona thing. Well, she’s a pirate now, how defenseless can she really be?”

“Why don’t _you_ expand more on these things that you believe Elena said?” Rhoswen asked.   
“Ha ha, _that_ sounds like a trap!” Bean said.   
“No, I’m giving you a chance to defend yourself. According to Elena, you encountered a demon, accidentally killed your intended, and my grandson had to bring you back from the forest slung over his horse and tied up.” Rhoswen eyed Bean’s wrists, and she quickly snatched them back under the blanket.

“Okay, technically, I was on _Merkimer’s_ horse, ‘cause he was supposed to marry me and stuff… and I was sitting up like a person, and I got exorcised.” Bean tried.   
Rhoswen raised an eyebrow. “You do realize Elena is far smarter than my grandson, or most of the men in Dreamland. As a good woman of the church—no, not that heresy currently in the capital—” Here Rhoswen crossed herself again. “She is able to recognize a demon when she sees one. And the demon isn’t gone, Tiabeanie.”

“I… are you going to say the demon’s inside me?” Bean asked.   
“No, I’m also a good woman of the church.” Rhoswen said. “I know it’s not.”   
“Oh… so where are you going with this now?” Bean asked nervously.   
Rhoswen drummed her fingers on the lawbook. “I don’t really know. You’re not a bad person, I can tell. My grandson is clearly devoted to you, and Blodeuwedd would have my head cut off if I hurt you. …perhaps I will just give you a Bible as a wedding present.”

“Uh… that’s not… you know what, fine.” Bean smiled awkwardly.   
“I would be proud to have you as a granddaughter.” Rhoswen added. “We can work on the demon thing later. …you will be doused in holy water before you leave, though.”   
“Cool.” Bean said faintly.   
Rhoswen patted Bean’s knee. “I may make sure that you see a real priest at some point in your life, child. Not whatever that purple woman in the capitol who doesn’t know how to line one’s eyes properly is.”   
“Can we please stop talking about religion?” Bean asked.

“Why, does it burn your flesh?” Rhoswen asked with far too much intensity to be joking.   
“I… no.” Bean said. “I’m just… super tired.”   
Rhoswen eyed the toothmarks on Bean’s purpling hickeys. “Yes, I can see that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ac ni fyddai ots gen i dy alw di'n wraig;_ And I wouldn’t mind calling you a wife.  
>  _Rwy'n dy garu di. Yn fwy na dim. Ni allaf adael i chi fynd. Rydych chi wedi difetha fi am unrhyw un arall.;_ I love you. Above all. I can’t let you go. You ruined me for anyone else.   
> _Nid chi yw fy un i, ond yr wyf yn perthyn i chwi.;_ You are not mine, but I belong to you.   
> _Mor dda, mor dda, mor dda Tiabeanie…;_ (more- THA) So good, so good, so good Tiabeanie.   
> _Mae'ch gwallt yn hyfryd. Rwyf hefyd yn caru eich gwên. Rwy'n arbennig o hoff o'ch brychni haul.;_ Your hair is beautiful. I also love your smile. I especially like your freckles.   
> _Dymuniad fy nghalon.;_ My heart’s desire.   
> _Boed i Saint Cadoc fy arwain._ May Saint Cadoc guide me.


	15. The bet doesn't matter since Zog doesn't win (you're all ordered to forget, on pain of being with the crabs)

It rained hard that night, all across Dreamland.

In the castle, Elfo laid down his cards. “Go Fish!”   
“We’re playing poker, asshole.” Luci scoffed.   
“Eh… I thought we were playin’ Spite ‘n Malice.” Zog said. “I was winnin’.”   
“How?” Luci asked.

“And _I_ thought we were playing Gin Rummy, so clearly, we’ve all failed.” Odval said stiffly.   
“Oh my God, are we just… _hanging out_?” Luci choked out. “Without Bean? Ew.”   
“Speaking of Bean, I’m kinda worried about her.” Elfo said.   
“Eh, ‘Gast’s only got the one eye, but he’s pretty capable.” Zog replied.

“No, I mean… Bean’s never really been without us before. I mean, we used to just sleep in her room. Who’s she going to sleep with, Pendergast?” Elfo tried.   
“Ew.” Odval said. “Please, Pendergast has better taste than that. He’s going to meet a nice girl, settle down and get married, have four children, and die peacefully of getting stabbed in the chest when he’s too old.”

“Odval, don’t talk shit about my daughta.” Zog huffed. “…but yeah, ‘Gast deserves a nice girl.”   
“Bean’s _probably_ going to kill him.” Luci said conversationally. “Ten gold Zogs she comes back without him.”   
“I’ll take that action. He’s a capable knight. I say he comes back somewhat bruised.” Odval said.   
“What about her?” Elfo asked. “What if he hurts her?”

The other three burst out laughing.   
“Doing what? Like he bows too hard and accidentally comes up and brushes her face slightly?” Luci cackled.   
“What if he hurts her _heart_?” Elfo tried. “What if she goes to him for comfort and he turns her away?”   
The other three continued laughing.   
“So you’re down for them… falling in love?” Luci guessed.

“No! She has better taste than him!” Elfo protested.   
“I’m down for they try ta kill each other and both come back injured.” Zog said. “Not withstandin’ the eye.”   
“That would be treason.” Odval pointed out smoothly.

“Eh, I fully expect him to snap one day and let her run off before he just quits.” Luci said. “I don’t know if you guys noticed, but he’s really into her. That’s going to blow up someday.”   
“Exactly, so you’re worried too!” Elfo said.   
“No, not at all. I just assume Pendergast will quit his job and become a monk after she rejects him for the last time. Or jump off a cliff or something. I don’t really care.” Luci said.

“They’ll be fine.” Zog waved his hand. “Beanie can handle herself, and what she can’t do, Gast can. He’s a good kid, a good knight. He’ll take care of her ‘til his dyin’ breath.”   
“Yeah, ‘cause he’s in _loooove_ with her.” Luci said.   
“No he’s not!” Elfo said quickly.   
“He is.” Odval said. “But that’s fine—loyalty like that can’t be bought, and God knows Tiabeanie needs someone to protect her.”

“We can protect her!”   
“You’re both all of three feet tall, if that. Let Tiabeanie make _human_ friends.” Odval said.   
“I know you’re obsessed with her, like _sexually_ , but you have to understand—” Luci began.   
“It’s not about that! I just… we’re her friends, and we were her friends first! I just—I just don’t want her to forget us. I don’t mind if Bean thinks of me like _that_ … really, I think I’m over her by now. But I don’t want to be left behind.” Elfo said quietly.   
“Oh. I… get that.” Luci said slowly.

“Hey no! No feelin’s in heyah, or I’ll kick ya out and replace ya with Vip ‘n’ Vap.” Zog threatened.   
Thunder rumbled overhead.

In Caer Griffiths, Alice shakily sealed her letter. It was done. She slipped out into the corridor, her footsteps tapping along like the raindrops overhead. She nearly turned down the hall to talk to Bean, but—this was what she wanted. Bean would be proud of her, right? And Blodeuwedd? She turned down a different hall instead, and knocked on the door.

And there—dark auburn hair, two bleary eyes, slim frame—was her David, fresh out of bed.   
“Alice?” He asked softly. “Are you a dream, come to seduce me?”   
Alice flushed slightly. David was always so nice to her. “I want to run away.”   
David straightened. “What?”   
“With you.” Alice said quickly. “And travel, and elope, and have some time to ourselves before we come back here and have children and…”

“The wedding’s in a few days. We can travel afterwards.” David said, clearly trying to convince himself.   
“David, your cousin’s paramour—”   
“The peasant?” David asked, aghast.   
“She was _kind_ to me. Not deferential, actually _kind_. She asked me what I want, and… I want you, but I don’t want to be the Countess of Caer Griffiths. Not yet. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days.”

“They’ll come after us.” David said.   
“We’ll take horses. Don’t you want to see the world?” Alice pleaded, trying to draw on an inner strength she didn’t really believe was there.   
“Didn’t you _just_ start to get along with Blodeuwedd?”

“We can pick up where we left off. Bean said she’d—they’d all—respect me if I stood up for myself.” Alice said. “Isn’t this… this is standing up for myself.”   
“They’ll miss us. I can’t do this.” David hissed.   
“I left a note.”

“What about the wedding?!” David demanded.   
Alice drew herself up to her full height. What would Bean do? “They—they can deal with it. Maybe Ermentrude will finally get her second husband. But I want to be _happy_.”   
“I thought you were going to be happy with me.” David snapped.   
“I am. If you go back into your room, I’ll let it drop. We’ll never speak of it again—I’ll burn the letter.”

David considered this. “…how long would we be gone, anyway?”   
“A year at most?” Alice tried.   
“…Let me pack. I’ll meet you in front of the stables.”   
“Which horses are we taking?”   
“Dobbin and Ashes.” David said. “Caer Griffiths horses. I won’t have them come for us as criminals, my love.”   
“Thank you, my heart.” Alice said softly, before suddenly lunging forward and kissing him gently.

Within thirty minutes, Rhoswen watched two horses ride away from Caer Griffiths. She stood at her window in her tower office, watching the rain swirl and cloak the riders. Nighttime was a time for lovers, and her bed was so empty. She never could sleep during storms without Maredudd—so there she stood, hair about her shoulders, clad in her nightgown, watching a grandchild ride away.

Because of course it was a grandchild—and given Blodeuwedd’s scare and Rachel’s age, almost definitely a _grandson_. Her family had such a flair for the dramatic. Idly, she hoped that it was Pendergast and his princess running off to elope. Possibly Thomas and a secret lover she had not asked about. …it was probably David, in a pique of teenage dramatics.

She was well aware that she should probably scream, and make sure that someone knew. That way, her remaining family could be saddled and riding after the miscreants to bring them back. She didn’t. She would let them run. She was an old woman, and had no time or energy to be running after foolish grandchildren. Besides, if she was being honest, she was just as much of a romantic as any of her descendants. The idea of a midnight elopement was annoying from a logical point of view, but it would be a good lesson. It would be a good story. And perhaps that Alice girl wasn’t so bad after all—or at least, it would teach her to have a spine.

Rhoswen watched the rain until it turned back into gray nothing, then returned to her desk and the flickering candle she’d placed there. She pulled open a drawer, then carefully removed several things; three letter piles, and a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied firmly with string, just as fresh as the day she had slid it in there.

The first pile of letters were her usual rainy night comforts—they were from Maredudd when he had been surveying their land at different points, or when he had gone into Wales, or anytime they had been separated, by any circumstance. She traced the top reverently.

Maredudd was a sweet man once she had grown to love him. At first, he had been so stiff, so obsessed with the status quo. He had taken her as a wife out of pure, cold logic. She had made sure that he had not regretted that decision, and then he had gone out of his way to ensure her happiness. She saw so much of him in her grandchildren—in Pendergast and David, mostly, though they were the only ones she saw actively trying to court someone. Did they even realize? They probably didn’t even remember Maredudd—David had been an infant, and Pendergast a far too quiet child.

She still remembered Arwel as a bright-eyed, optimistic child. When had that died? When had the light gone out of his own children’s eyes—and why hadn’t she noticed? When had the child who used to play in the halls at being a knight become one? So. She had destroyed the creature inhabiting her son’s body who had killed her precious baby. She killed the creature that had pawed at that poor, sweet woman, swiped at her grandchildren, whose blood had turned to alcohol.

She didn’t regret it. The creature had killed her son first. Had tried to kill her grandchildren. She _couldn’t_ regret it. She had closed her eyes when she had pushed him out—both as a newborn, and out of the window. She had never wanted to see her darling cry out in fear. Hands shaking, she turned away from Maredudd’s letters. She didn’t deserve them. Slowly, she turned to the second pile—the largest by far, as well as the one with the latest additions.

Those were Elena’s letters, detailing the adventures of her grandson, and the gossip from the capitol. …Admittedly, yes, she had known about the eye years ago. She had assumed the boy had told Lynette, and had been unwilling to admit her source until it was basically like looking Lavinia in the eye. The third pile was Lavinia’s letters—the second largest, and the oldest. She could never hide anything from Lavinia.

Lavinia had been so worried about her granddaughter. After her son’s death, she had basically kept the girl with her at all times. Rhoswen slowly opened a letter, reading Lavinia’s shaky handwriting. That one had been written at Tiabeanie’s bedside, when Lavinia had mistaken a flu for another poisoning. As always, she had plenty of venom to spit about Dagmar.

Tiabeanie had been a lonely child. Rhoswen had almost sent Pendergast to the capitol to be fostered, if not for Lynette begging for her son to stay. Lavinia had said that she was disappointed, but Rhoswen also believed her friend saw the silver lining. Lavinia had doted on the little girl, had kept her on her knee during court. She was more Lavinia’s than Dagmar’s, and Rhoswen had a sneaking suspicion that the motherly affection the girl longed for was a child confusing Lavinia’s absence with Dagmar’s.

Perhaps, at least. They had both left her life at the same time, or near enough. Perhaps the little girl had always wanted Dagmar’s affection—something Lavinia had described as performative at best. It wasn’t Dagmar cleaning her sick and sponging her forehead. It wasn’t Dagmar waking at all hours of the night to change poultices and soothe her. It was never Dagmar playing with her, holding her hand, trying to make her laugh. Lavinia had thought that Dagmar thought of the child as an accessory, like a purse or a tiara. Elena’s later letters apparently revealed that Dagmar was far more insidious than that.

Rhoswen pursed her lips, and turned to the past. There was no reason to think about _that woman_ now—it was like speaking of the Devil to make him come. Besides, she had dealt with a similar situation before. Lynette had been abandoned, and now Lynette was _her_ daughter. No doubt Tiabeanie would repeat the cycle when Rhoswen’s second great-grandson brought a woman home in need of a mother. It was always the second son.

Deeper in the castle, the latest second son curled an arm around his princess.   
Bean, still half asleep, snuggled back against him.   
“Cysgu'n dda, fy ngeneth i.” Pendergast muttered into her hair.   
“Good night, dork.” Bean muttered back drowsily.   
“Mae'ch gwallt fel sidan. Rwyf wrth fy modd â'r ffordd rydych chi'n arogli.” He said, hand sliding up slightly.

Bean was suddenly a lot more awake. “I caught ‘hair’, which doesn’t have anything to do with why you’re cupping my boob.”   
He buried his face in her shoulder. “Rydych chi mor feddal. Rwyf wrth fy modd â'r ffordd rydych chi'n teimlo.”   
“That was pretty close to the other one… you’re not even awake, are you?”

“Mm… a wnewch chi fy mhriodi?” Pendergast mumbled, pulling her closer.   
Bean yawned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”   
“Rwy'n dy garu di.”   
“I love you too.” She admitted, eyes drifting closed as she listened to his even breathing and his heartbeat. Maybe he meant it, if he was saying it in his sleep…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cysgu'n dda, fy ngeneth i. Sleep well, my girl.  
> Mae'ch gwallt fel sidan. Rwyf wrth fy modd â'r ffordd rydych chi'n arogl. Your hair is like silk. I love the way you smell.   
> Rydych chi mor feddal. Rwyf wrth fy modd â'r ffordd rydych chi'n teimlo. You’re so soft. I love the way you feel.   
> a wnewch chi fy mhriodi? Will you marry me?   
> Rwy'n dy garu di. love you.


	16. Most of these conversations are not 100% English but I'm not going that far

The household was in a quiet uproar before dawn. The Griffiths family—those who had a say, at least, were convened in Rhoswen’s office, still in their nightclothes. Rhoswen sat at her desk, watching her son pace.   
Lynette was a good deal calmer, especially since she was working on calming a hysterical Hannah. Blodeuwedd sat in the corner, quill ready to take notes.

“We need to send out riders! Get Lynette’s lazy sons to find our boy!” Cadwaladr raged.   
Rhoswen and Blodeuwedd shared a look.   
“I’m sure David is quite alright without his mother fussing over him.” Rhoswen said drily.   
“My _baby_ , s-seduced into the night!” Hannah wailed. “By that _witch_! I want her brought back _dead_ for tempting him away! N-no! I want to kill her myself!”

“There will be no killing of anyone, Hannah.” Rhoswen said coolly. “They want to run away? Let them. They’ll come crawling back once they have a taste of the real world.”   
“What if they get attacked, like _that one_?” Cadwaladr gestured to Blodeuwedd, and she glared back. “Do you care for more of your family’s blood on your hands, _old woman_?”

Rhoswen looked up at him. “I will look past that because I know you’re worried about your son. Do not forget that I labored for twelve hours with you, and I did not bring you screaming into this world for you to say such things to me. Apologize.”   
“I will _not_.” Cadwaladr spat. “I am the Baron of Caer Griffiths!”

“And I am your mother.”   
There was a pause, and then Cadwaladr ground out, “Sorry.”   
“You are already forgiven.” Rhoswen sipped her mint tea. “How are the Brodericks taking it?”   
Cadwaladr scoffed. “The jumped up merchants are _daring_ to accuse _our son_ of luring that little chit away!”

“He’ll be _murdered_!” Hannah sobbed. “She’ll slit his throat and take his wa-a-allet!”   
“That’d be a waste. He doesn’t _have_ any money worth taking. That’s why she’s meant to be marrying him anyway.” Rhoswen said, shrugging. “I think they just ran away as lovers. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”   
“Like you were _sure_ that Pendergast going to the capitol would be good for our family?” Cadwaladr sneered. “He came back with a peasant, missing an eye!”

“As far as I’m aware, the two are unconnected.” Rhoswen said mildly. “And it _is_ good. He is the Knight-Captain, Cadwaladr. He has the king’s ear. It is not his fault that you do not have his.”   
“He is an ungrateful—”   
“Cadwaladr, I would like to take this moment to ask what my son is meant to be grateful for?” Lynette asked sweetly.   
Blodeuwedd cackled as Cadwaladr turned puce. “Suck it, old man.”

“Blodeuwedd, if he is old, what does that make me?” Rhoswen asked.   
“Wise, Granny.” Blodeuwedd said quickly.   
“Hmm.” Rhoswen hid the ensuing smile with her cup. “Anyway, perhaps we should send out a few riders. We wouldn’t want to alert everyone to the fact that we don’t have control of the situation.”

“And what—we don’t have a wedding?” Cadwaladr snarled.   
“Oh no, we can still have a wedding.” Rhoswen said. “I would expect nothing less. What a shame I was only blessed with one grandchild…”   
“No.” Blodeuwedd said. “And you can’t make me.”   
“Rachel’s a _baby_!” Hannah wailed in apparent agreement.

“I was thinking a Griffiths groom, really. Please do not begin wailing in tandem, Lynette.” Rhoswen said.   
“You can ask my sons.” Lynette said, losing the sweet tone. “I cannot speak for them.”   
“Mm… I was thinking of asking the duty-bound Knight-Captain. Any woman would be happy to have him, and I’m sure he’d say yes.” Rhoswen said.   
“You’re going to make Penny marry _Ermentrude_?” Blodeuwedd leapt to her feet. “No—he’s happy with Bean!”   
“For once, the chit has a point. The Brodericks will likely want to put forth another bride, presumably the widow who looks as though she’s eaten something sour.” Cadwaladr said.

“That was _not_ my point!” Blodeuwedd protested.   
“Alice ran off with David. One can assume they will continue to get married.” Rhoswen said.   
“The Brodericks wanted titles and land—how will they get that with an elopement?” Lynette asked quietly.   
Rhoswen shrugged. “It stands to reason they plan to return soon. Alice will become the Countess of Caer Griffiths—”

Hannah gave another wail.   
Rhoswen did not hide her eye roll. “Everything will go as scheduled. We simply need a bride for the moment.”   
“Ermentrude Broderick.” Cadwaladr said firmly.   
Rhoswen looked at Blodeuwedd, before turning back to Cadwaladr and shrugging. “You do realize Pendergast’s woman is of noble birth, yes? Her hands are incredibly soft. Her hair luxurious. She wears Dankmirian silk as a chemise.”   
“The mistress of a knight—”

“The woman our family owes a debt to is no mistress.” Rhoswen sighed. “You _see_ , but you do not observe. You simply make snap judgements and stick to them.” Her eyes shifted to her crying daughter in law, and then back to her son, before she sipped her tea. “If she agrees, I cannot see a world where this doesn’t benefit our family. Unless, of course, you would prefer to tie us more firmly to the merchants?”

“I should have been told she was noble.” Cadwaladr spat. “What family is she even from?”   
Rhoswen put down her cup, and met her son’s eyes fully. “I am given to understand that one of her recent ancestors was a Grunkwitz.”   
Blodeuwedd stiffened.   
“A Grunkwitz?” Cadwaladr breathed.   
Rhoswen nodded. “Mind, it’s not as though she is the last daughter of the main line. That would be insane.”

Blodeuwedd made a noise like a mouse being trodden on. Lynette immediately abandoned Hannah to approach her daughter. “Are you alright, fy nghariaud aur?”   
“I’m fine, Mum. Just… surprised.” Blodeuwedd said.   
Cadwaladr collapsed into a seated position, almost in a daze. “A Grunkwitz…”   
“Cadwaladr, it’s not as though she is the princess herself.” Rhoswen chided. She would go to confession for her lies after the wedding. It just wouldn’t stand for Cadwaladr to know.

“ _Still_.” Cadwaladr said. “…Do you think she would accept Thomas? We could save Pendergast for another—”   
“I think she would be deeply unhappy if saddled with an unambitious alcoholic who does not seem to like her, as opposed to the man whose bed she’s been sharing.” Rhoswen said. “No offense meant to you as his mother, Lynette.”   
“None taken.” Lynette said absentmindedly, rubbing circles into Blodeuwedd’s back.

“A _Grunkwitz_ …” Cadwaladr repeated, despite his wife still sobbing.   
“A Griffiths, if she agrees.” Rhoswen agreed. “Blodeuwedd? Would you mind informing your brother of his impending nuptials? Ah, don’t ruin the surprise. Send him to Thomas to ready himself—he can’t be in there while we’re readying _her_.”   
“What if she doesn’t want to marry him?” Blodeuwedd blurted out. “She seems kind of… commitment… averse…”

Rhoswen hummed. “Leave that to me. Besides, if she says no, there’s always Lady Ermentrude. Who knows? Perhaps she’ll prove to be as fertile as a rabbit in spring.”   
“…Bean or Lady Ermentrude?” Blodeuwedd asked slowly.   
“Ermentrude—I can’t imagine she has many other redeeming qualities.” Rhoswen said dismissively. “She was the one tormenting Lady Alice, yes? Hannah, stop crying. You can blame Ermentrude for driving your son and daughter in law out into the night. One can’t imagine Pendergast would enjoy it anymore than Alice, but who knows? He seems to have made a career out of following orders. His home life with a wife giving him more orders would then be comfortingly familiar, I should think.”

“Can we _not_ talk about this?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
Rhoswen waved her hand. “We should all get ready for the day. Get your brother up after dawn. I expect he’ll have a long day today anyway. Bring his woman to me after he’s secured with Thomas.”   
“Please stop calling her that. She is more than just his _woman_.” Lynette said distastefully.   
“It’s not my fault that Blodeuwedd introduced her as his _Bean_ , as though she is a cuddly toy he clung to as a child.” Rhoswen said, feigning innocence.

“Rhoswen, please.” Lynette said, rolling her eyes. “Treat her with respect.”   
“Hmm.” Rhoswen said, which was as good as admitting that she was wrong. “I suppose I should call her his _ddyweddi_.”   
Lynette smiled fondly. “Yes. That would be preferable.”   
“She still has to be _asked_ , Granny.” Blodeuwedd huffed.

“Then get going.” Rhoswen said. “All of you, out. I have business to attend to.”   
“I am the Baron of Caer Griffiths—”   
“Yes, yes, we are all aware. We are all very proud. But I changed your diapers, you cannot intimidate me.” Rhoswen said.   
Cadwaladr turned purple and stomped out, crying wife in tow.

A little bit later, Blodeuwedd knocked on a door. There was the sound of cloth rustling, then Pendergast came to the door. “What?” He asked blearily. “Is the castle on fire?”   
Blodeuwedd pointedly stared at his eye. “Aw, what? I thought it’d be like… gaping, or something.”   
Pendergast clapped a hand over that side of his face. “No! Is that what you woke me up for?”

“No. Hey, how come you wouldn’t show me? It’s not that bad.”   
“I try to avoid unnecessarily stressing my family. For example, you don’t see me knocking on your door before dawn.”   
“It’s dawning now.” Blodeuwedd snarked. “And Tommy said you showed him.”

“Very briefly, to get him to discuss Arwel’s death.” Pendergast said. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”   
“So, David ran off. And the wedding’s today.” Blodeuwedd said slowly.   
“I thought it was tomorrow.” Pendergast said.

“No, it got moved up, because of the rain.” Blodeuwedd said.   
“Well, I’ll saddle up Carrots. We can still find the trail if we move f—”   
“Penny. David’s not getting married today. You are.”

Pendergast froze. “…what did you just say?”   
“We needed a replacement groom, and…” Blodeuwedd shrugged.   
“I’m _not_ marrying a sixteen year old.” Pendergast hissed. “I don’t care if you ask, I don’t care if Granny asks, I don’t care if Zog himself asks. I’m drawing a line there.”

“Good, because it’s not Alice. She ran off last night with David.” Blodeuwedd huffed.   
“Then _who_ the _fuck_ am I supposed to be marrying?” Pendergast whispered, glancing back towards the dark room.   
Blodeuwedd shifted. Here came the technicalities. “Uncle was discussing someone named Ermentrude.”   
“Ermentrude?” Pendergast repeated.   
“Yes, the blonde woman who follows Thomas around occasionally? Mean to Alice the rest of the time? Blonde, with an unfortunate horse face? Nags like one too?” Blodeuwedd said.

“…well if she wants _Thomas_ …”   
“Penny, no one wants an alcoholic layabout. You seem to be… an eligible bachelor. I guess.” Blodeuwedd squinted. “Like if a woman’s options were _you_ , Thomas, or _Marlowe_ —”   
“Did you just compare me to your attempted rapist?”   
“All I’m saying is, you’re not _that_ bad.” Blodeuwedd patted her brother’s shoulder.

“I should hope not.” Pendergast said faintly. “I mean, I can wake up the only woman I’ve ever—”   
“EW! NO!” Blodeuwedd said, covering her ears. “No no no no no.”   
“I understand, the thought of what that man nearly did to means you never want sex brought up again.”   
“More like, you’re my brother, and I don’t want to hear about _that_.” Blodeuwedd shuddered.

“Well, good for you, since I’m apparently marrying a woman I haven’t heard of until now.” Pendergast ground out. “I will do my duty in the marriage bed, but nothing more.”   
“Stop talking about this.” Blodeuwedd snapped. “I am _begging_ you.”   
“…I just… I don’t want this.” Pendergast said softly. “I just… _she_ just… everything’s good right now. Please? Can’t I just be happy?”

“That’s not up to me.” Blodeuwedd finally said. “I’m sorry.”   
“But why _me_?”   
“Because you follow orders, and you won’t run off like David did. You’re a dutiful grandson. That’s why _hen ddwylo_ up there chose you.”   
Pendergast glared at his sister. “And what if I don’t want to? What if I take her and run?”   
“Where? Back to the capital? You think Thomas wouldn’t drag you back here if you tried to push that onto him? You think Ermentrude wouldn’t be sent after you? Don’t make this harder for yourself.”

Pendergast’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “I just… this is cruel.”   
“It’s not my fault.”   
“No, you’re being intentionally cruel, Blodeuwedd, and you know it.”   
“It’s _not my fault_. I’m just following orders—haven’t you ever had any you didn’t like and had to follow?”

Pendergast flinched. “…that’s… I didn’t _enjoy_ it.”   
“I’m not enjoying this.” Blodeuwedd said. “I love you. I love Bean. I want you both to be happy. _It’s not my fault_ , Penny!”   
“Shh! You’ll wake her!” Pendergast glanced back towards the room. “…Birdy, can you do something for me?”

“Depends on what it is.”   
“Don’t… don’t tell her what’s happening. Don’t have her at the wedding, she’ll…” Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll think of it as a betrayal. Just distract her all day. For me, please?”   
“I’ll take care of her.” Blodeuwedd said, because if everything went to plan, she’d be alongside Bean for the entirety of the day anyway.

Pendergast nodded. “I’m going to go get my dress uniform—”   
“And eyepatch.”   
“And say goodbye.” Pendergast finished.

He disappeared into the dark room. He picked his way over to the saddlebag, and fished out his dress uniform—and his good eye patch—before moving over to Bean’s side of the bed. Her hair was strewn over the pillow, and his heart twanged. He gently pressed a kiss to her forehead.   
“Mm…? Pen…?” Bean muttered. “S’too early… go back to sleep.”

“No, this is important. I love you.”   
“Oh, geez, we’re doing this now? You can tell me later. Sleep now.”   
“No, I really can’t. Bean, I love you, but that’s _not_ why I’m leaving. I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”   
“…leaving?” She suddenly sounded a lot more awake.

“I’m… getting married.” Pendergast choked out. “Not because I want to. Hey, it’s going to be okay. Be strong, okay? I… guess everything’s going to be back to normal when we get back to Dreamland proper.”   
“No no no no, there’s gotta be some kind of mistake.” Bean said. “You _can’t_. I just said it back.”   
“You did not, you said to go back to sleep.” Pendergast said drily.

“Last night, when you were sleep-talking! I love you!” She blurted out. “You can’t get married!”   
Pendergast tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not up to me.”   
“It’s _you_ getting married!”   
“It’s my _duty_.” Pendergast finally said.

“Wh—what about your duty to _me_?”   
He cocked his head. “And what duty is _that_ , _Princess Tiabeanie_? This hasn’t been… this was _me_ , Pendergast the man. Not Pendergast the knight. And I don’t _want_ to leave you. I definitely don’t want to marry this Ermentrude woman.”   
She looked at him for a minute, before turning over on her other side and burying herself in the covers. “Go.”

“Bean—”  
“ _Go_.” She couldn’t breathe. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. She had _known_ this would happen, and she still let herself say it anyway.   
He left. Of course he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ddyweddi; fiancee   
> hen ddwylo; old hands (an affectionate nickname for an old person)


	17. Zog wishes he had half the planning Rhoswen did

What Bean didn’t expect was for Blodeuwedd to come bounding in. “Hey! Wake up!”   
“Go away.” Bean said.   
“Granny wants to talk to you.” Blodeuwedd said.   
“I don’t want to talk to her.” Bean muttered, pulling the covers up further.

“’Cause it’s her fault you lost your boyfriend to the evil clutches of Ermentrude?” Blodeuwedd said.   
“It doesn’t matter.” Bean muttered. “I was stupid.”   
Blodeuwedd flopped down on top of the covers that Bean was obviously under. “Nah, you’re not stupid. But you want to go get your man back?”

“He’s marrying _Ermentrude_.”   
“He doesn’t _want to_. You don’t want him to. No one wants him to marry Ermentrude except for her.” Blodeuwedd leaned in a way that ensured her weight was definitely pressing into Bean.   
“It’s… _he’s_ the one leaving.”   
“He tried to talk me into letting him not do that.” Blodeuwedd said. “Even though it’s an order from up above. That’s new. Look, he’s not married _yet_. You still have a chance.”

“Do you think he’d still…? Even after he’s married?” Bean asked softly.   
“ _Ew_. No. Not just because I keep telling you people I don’t want to hear about _any_ of that. Penny’s pretty good about honour. He’s not going to cheat on his wife. He’s probably going to submit a request to be moved permanently from the castle so that you cannot _tempt_ him.” Blodeuwedd said dramatically. “So really, you’ll lose him _twice_ if you don’t act now.”

“Birdy—”   
“And where’s the girl who once jumped off a cliff to make her point? The one who found the Eternity Pendant?”   
“Birdy, I’ll go talk to your grandmother!” Bean said. “That’s what I was trying to say! But you need to get out so I can change.”   
“It’s fine, you can go see her in your nightgown.”   
“Birdy, I didn’t _bring_ a nightgown.”

“Oh. _Oh_. I really _don’t_ want to know, but how long has this…? Never mind, ew ew ew, leaving now, meet you outside the door.”   
Bean emerged a little bit later, in her day clothes. “Okay, so what—”   
“No time, we gotta _go_.” Blodeuwedd grabbed her uninjured hand, and pulled her all the way to Rhoswen’s tower, then pushed her into the room.   
“What is going on?” Bean asked.

Rhoswen was back to her usual unflappable self, also in her day clothes. “Blodeuwedd, did you bother to have Lynette check out those dressings?”   
“I thought we were having a crisis over Penny marrying a woman with a horse face!” Blodeuwedd hissed.   
“I imagine the bride fainting halfway down the aisle because of gangrene would cause even more alarm.” Rhoswen said drily.

“What?” Bean asked softly.   
Rhoswen smiled. “Well, it’s simple. I will lock Ermentrude in a closet somewhere, and we’ll get you a thick veil, and you’ll marry Pendergast instead.”   
“Whoa, okay, what makes you think I even want to get married? Let alone to him? Also, same for him about me!”

Rhoswen shrugged. “I don’t know about you, true. But Pendergast is a homebody, and a romantic. He’s not exactly going to leave you now that he’s fallen in love with you.”   
“Isn’t that exactly what’s happening?” Bean muttered darkly.   
Rhoswen scoffed, nudging Bean with her foot. “Stand up straight, dear. You don’t have to watch it happen. I am simply suggesting that you take control of your life. Choose your own husband, marry for love, all of that that women in my day couldn’t even _dream_ of.”

“Wait, I thought you loved Granddad.” Blodeuwedd said.   
“Hmm. Eventually.” Rhoswen smiled again, this one much more secretive. “Though I expect you don’t want to hear about _that_.”   
“…do I?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
“First off, has your mother informed you what sex is?” Rhoswen said seriously, returning to her desk.

“This is a nightmare, thank you.” Blodeuwedd replied. “Yes, I know what sex is. _Stop talking now_.”   
“That’s no way to speak to your grandmother.” Rhoswen said.   
Blodeuwedd rubbed her temples. “Why does _everyone_ want to share details about _that_ with me today?”   
Rhoswen raised an eyebrow. “Who else have you spoken too since the news of David’s disappearance?”

Blodeuwedd pointed at Bean, who shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t _say_ anything—”   
“Shush. Sh. As far as I’m concerned, you and my brother— _ew_ —spent the night five feet apart in long shapeless nightgowns.”   
Rhoswen looked worried. “…Blodeuwedd, go get the pennyroyal tea from your mother.”   
“Pennyroyal?” Bean cocked her head. “What’s that?”   
“A form of mint.” Rhoswen said. “ _Now_ Blodeuwedd.”

Blodeuwedd left.   
“Sorry for the uncomfortable topic of conversation, but I wanted to make sure that she would leave.” Rhoswen said amicably. “Now, what do _you_ want?”   
“I… what?” Bean asked, caught off guard.   
“Or more accurately, what are you going to do to ensure that you keep my grandson?”

“He doesn’t _want_ me. He didn’t fight to keep me or anything!” Bean snapped.   
Rhoswen tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like him.”   
“Trust me, he didn’t.” Bean scoffed.

“Mm… so you won’t?” Rhoswen said.   
“What?”   
“He has always been a dutiful boy. I suppose it’s a curse as well as a blessing. But you’re just going to let that woman snatch him from you? Have you ever heard the story of the singing, springing lark? It’s something from the Continent.”

“Uh… no?” Bean said.   
“Well, long story short, the woman in that story loses her husband through no fault of her own. And then, once she hunts him down, and turns him and the dragon that she is fighting back into humans, the dragon woman grabs the husband and flies away with him on a griffin.”   
“This is a really weird story.”   
“The point is, do you think the woman gave up then?” Rhoswen watched Bean shrewdly. “No. If you want him, you should fight for him.”

“Holding on with both hands hasn’t really worked out well for me in the past.” Bean argued. “I thought you were just going to… cancel the wedding or something. Stick a dead owl in the cake.”   
“Do not do that, Lynette will cry.” Rhoswen said. “She spent time and effort on that cake, just as she spent time and effort teaching you to bake bread, and mothering you.”   
Bean coloured. “That’s… I didn’t ask for that.”   
“Not verbally, no.” Rhoswen folded her hands in her lap. “You don’t need to ask someone to love you, Tiabeanie. You’re lovable as is.”

Bean felt like her throat was closing. “He _left_ , they all _left_ …”   
Rhoswen stood, and moved around the desk to take Bean’s hands in hers. “He hasn’t yet. You can still have him. I just would like to know if you’re more scared of losing him, or of marriage.”   
“I don’t want to be some man’s _thing_!” Bean spat. “I don’t belong to anyone!”

“Good Lord, what _has_ Lavinia’s son been doing with his wives…?” Rhoswen muttered. Vaguely, Bean was aware that she could have (and would have) spoken in Welsh if she was just speaking to herself. Her face burned in shame. “This isn’t about him!”   
“No? You’re right, you are far from a chair, or a sheaf of barley. So, it would do you well to find a man that’s not completely shit.”

“Ha, good luck. Even Pen’s said some questionable stuff.” Bean crossed her arms.   
“Hmm. You know, one of the most important parts of a prospective husband is whether he’s _trainable_.”   
“I don’t want to have to make him not be shitty, he should _already_ not be shitty!”   
“Is my grandson _currently_ … ‘shitty’?” Rhoswen asked, making air-quotes.

“Well… no… not… recently, anyway.” Bean said slowly.   
“Perhaps trainable was the wrong word.” Rhoswen said. “We need to find a man that will let you see who they are underneath, dropping their ego. A man who can be vulnerable with you. I am open to suggestions, but I really do have a wedding to plan.”   
“I don’t want to give up my freedom!” Bean hissed.   
“Then get a man who treats you like a _person_.” Rhoswen said dismissively. “I don’t really have time to talk you into this, I’m sure that Ermentrude would be happy to marry my grandson, no questions asked.”   
Silence fell for a minute as Rhoswen looked down at her papers. Then she looked back up and sighed. “How much do you know about my son?”   
“The tall mean one, or…?”

“Arwel. The younger one. Pendergast’s father.” Rhoswen bit out.   
“Not much, but I know it’s not good.” Bean said.   
“He was a rough man who drank too much and took out his jealousy over his brother’s position and his own frustration with himself for a lack of purpose on his wife and children.” Rhoswen said. “And I killed him for it.”   
“You… what?”   
“I pushed him out the window.” Rhoswen said coolly. “That is what I referenced yesterday. That does not leave this room, girl. Now, I want you to tell me that I would hesitate if my grandson would become a controlling monster like my son. That _Lynette_ would hesitate.”

“I…” Bean stared at Rhoswen like she’d grown a second head.   
Rhoswen folded her hands underneath her chin. “I hope you realize that marriage here—to Pendergast—is just that. A marriage. A joining of families. You would be a part of our family, officially. Blodeuwedd would be your sister. Lynette would be your mother. We are not the type to abandon our family—it is a chance for you to start over.”

“I…” Bean repeated.   
“Oh, and one more thing.” Rhoswen pulled a yellowed letter out of her sleeve. “This is from Lavinia, for you. I was meant to send it so that it would be there for you before you got married, but Elena was away for your engagement, and the wedding date was uncertain. I suppose now is as good a time as any. Sit down and read, and I will come back in fifteen minutes and hear your decision.”

Bean silently took the letter, and opened it once Rhoswen was out of the room.

_‘My dearest Beanie,_

_As I write this, you’re currently chasing a butterfly around the palace gardens. I am seated in the shade, and I know I won’t be there for you when you need me. But this isn’t a sad letter—this is a letter of congratulations._

_Beanie, I am so proud of you. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, and I’m proud of every step, bump, or bruise along the way that got you there. I’m proud of all your successes, and the mistakes that you learned from._

_So, you’re getting married soon! I hope that he deserves you. I hope that he is kind, and handsome, and everything you wanted. It could be that you’re marrying for love, which I hope is the case. If not, I hope you can grow to love him._

_Beanie, you’re such a happy child,’_ there were several lines crossed out here. ‘ _When people are kind to you. I hope that you have found more kindness. I hope that his family have taken you in. I hope above all that you are a happy woman. I cannot be there to see it, but just know, I’m watching from wherever I’ve gone (Purgatory, most likely, but there may be a few cardinal sins from my youth that I cannot remember. You’re a good girl though, you don’t need to hear about that sort of thing.) I may not be there physically, but I am with you, my dear girl. I want you to be happy more than anything, and I hope that this only adds to that._

_With all my love,  
Beebaw.’ _

Was she happy? Well, not then, obviously. She wanted a family. She wanted stupid sexy Pendergast. She wanted all the happy stuff to keep going. And that wouldn’t happen unless… okay, so maybe Rhoswen was right. Maybe she was more scared of losing someone— _Pendergast_ —than she was of marrying him.

That was when Blodeuwedd burst in with a mug of something minty smelling. Stronger than most mint teas—Jesus Christ kind of strong. Rhoswen followed sedately.   
“Have you made a choice?” Rhoswen asked softly.   
“Yeah, I… guess I’m getting married.” Bean shrugged slightly.   
Rhoswen clasped her hands together. “I have _just_ the dress.”

“Oh, I already brought a dress—”   
“But you’re the bride now.” Rhoswen said. “Drink that, and then we have work to do.”   
Bean took the mug. “Uh… I’m not a fan of _mint_ …”   
“It’s _pennyroyal_.” Rhoswen said. “Not _peppermint_.”   
“No, yeah I got that, but I still don’t know what it is.”

“It is an emmenagogue.”   
“And that is…?”   
Rhoswen sighed. “It _stimulates_ menstruation.”   
“Oh, no then I definitely don’t want that.” Bean tried to hand the mug off to Rhoswen, who sighed, and put it on the desk.   
Blodeuwedd stared at Bean. “So, you _want_ to get pregnant?”

“Ahaha, what?” Bean laughed nervously.   
“It stimulates menstruation.” Rhoswen said. “But quite honestly, you don’t _like mint_ , and I like the prospect of being able to meet a great-grandchild of mine, so let’s just move on—”   
Bean grabbed the mug and started chugging.   
“Easy, easy, you’re going to poison yourself!” Blodeuwedd pulled it away, thankfully not spilling in Rhoswen’s precious room. “Slowly!”

“How come you know this stuff?” Bean asked.   
“Mum knows things about herbs.” Blodeuwedd shrugged. “Like the betony.”   
“Ac nid gwrach mohoni, yn enwedig nid un a gefnodd ar ei merch.” Rhoswen muttered, taking a parcel wrapped in paper out from behind a stack of books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ac nid gwrach mohoni, yn enwedig nid un a gefnodd ar ei merch. -- And she’s not a witch, especially not one who abandoned her daughter.


	18. Bean, that's a lot of feelings you got there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the dress uniform wasn't invented until the 18th/19th Century but goddamn it. He washed his hair for this. He's not wearing the stupid thrift store pirate outfit to his wedding. He's _not_.

Lynette hummed as she brushed Bean’s hair, the scent of chamomile filling the room.  
“Are you steeping me in tea?” Bean asked.  
“No!” Lynette said, before considering it. “…maybe.”

Indeed, there was chamomile oil in Bean’s bathwater, as well as several flowers floating in the warm water.  
Blodeuwedd was on a chair a little ways away, parchment in her lap on top of a plank she’d found somewhere. “It’s to calm you down.”

Bean rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to be calm.”  
“Then it’s for ‘energy in adversity’.” Blodeuwedd said, not taking her eyes off of her parchment. “Mum, have you washed out that sweet smell from her hair?”  
“It seems almost natural, fy nghariaud aur.” Lynette replied cheerfully.  
“Butterscotch.” Bean supplied. “That’s what Elfo said, anyway.”

“Your friend has a good nose.” Lynette said. “Although, I think your butterscotch smell might be slightly covered here. We don’t use straight lye soap—this one is chamomile and lavender I made last autumn. Eyes closed.”  
That was the only warning Bean got before Lynette dumped a bucket of water on her head. She did not get a warning for Lynette’s nails scraping her scalp—or, as Lynette helpfully called it, the lather.

“Last one, fy nghariaud gwyn.” Lynette said. “We want to make that hair _shine_ like starlight!”  
“So can you not lie either?” Bean asked her, wincing.  
“That’s right.” Lynette said. “If I try, I faint because of the pain.”  
“Huh.” Bean said, because there was no good answer for that. “So, if your husband sucked, why didn’t you take the pennyroyal tea yourself?”  
Blodeuwedd’s quill pen stopped moving.

“What makes you think I didn’t?” Lynette asked. “I only have three children, after all. All nicely spaced apart. I was by no means a broodmare.”  
“…Can you send me some? When I get back to Dreamland?”  
“You’re still in Dreamland.” Blodeuwedd muttered.

“Of course! You should be able to have children when you’re ready—when you’re _both_ ready, not because of anything else.” Lynette said. “…To answer your question, Arwel wasn’t always like that. He used to have a quick smile, and a great sense of humor. I was pregnant with Thomas when we got married. Penny was born because of how happy we were at the time. Blodeuwedd is my greatest treasure, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”  
“You can tell her. I wasn’t supposed to be born.” Blodeuwedd said.

“That’s not true.” Lynette said, her voice becoming sharp for the first time Bean had ever heard. “I meant what I said. I don’t regret having you—any of you.”  
“I nearly killed you!”  
“ _Arwel_ nearly killed me.”  
Bean winced as Lynette, distracted by her thoughts, pulled a little too hard. “If it helps, I’m pretty sure my mom only had me to collect on a debt from Hell, or whatever.”  
“What?” Lynette said, brought back to the present.

“Yeah, well, she obviously didn’t care about my dad. She didn’t care about _me_. She was just… using me. She kept saying that I’d be ‘the greatest woman this goddamn kingdom has ever known’, but… not on her terms, you know?”

Lynette sighed. “Fy nghariad gwyn, I have no doubt that you’ll be the greatest woman Dreamland has ever known. …Don’t tell Rhoswen that, no one can hold a candle to Queen Lavinia for her. But what you do with that greatness—whether it’s in the birthing bed, or battlefield, or anywhere in between—that is up to you. I know you’ll do great things—but you must define your greatness yourself.”  
“Also your mom sucks, so Mum’s your mother now.” Blodeuwedd said, twirling her quill to make a point.

“Mother in law, yes.” Lynette laughed. “I hope to have a better relationship with you than I did with Rhoswen when I was first married.”  
“When did she warm up to you?”  
“Hmm… around the time that I had Blodeuwedd.” Lynette said. “After that, she stopped making snide comments towards me.”

“More accurately, it was around the time I lost Maredudd.” Rhoswen’s voice interrupted.  
The three women in the room jumped as the tiny, elderly woman made her way in with the package.  
“I was just checking it against your measurements.” Rhoswen continued. “It will fit you like a glove. Now for the other things. Blodeuwedd—go and _borrow_ those shoes Hannah said were sinful when Cadwaladr gave them to her last Christmas. The blue ones. Lynette, I’m sure you could find a suitable table cloth that would work as a veil.”

And within a few minutes, Bean was mostly toweled off—with one towel still around her hair—her underclothes already on. Rhoswen finally handed over the parcel. Inside were two dresses—the first, a light blue silk chemise, with white cuffs. Underneath it was a dark blue satin kirtle. The bodice was a bit stiffer for support, and it had a different shade of blue on the sleeves down to the waist, simulating a tighter bodice. The skirt itself was somewhat flared, with golden threads sewn in to simulate stars.

“It’s… beautiful.” Bean said softly.  
“Yes.” Rhoswen agreed. “As I’ve said, it was my mother’s. Now it is yours—hopefully, to pass down to your daughter, you will then give it to _her_ granddaughter in law.”  
Bean laughed, and Rhoswen smiled sedately.  
“I don’t know if I’m going to have kids.” Bean admitted.

“That is a conversation for my grandson, not me.” Rhoswen replied. “Go. Change.”  
Bean pulled the towel off of her hair, and then pulled the dresses on—first the chemise, then the kirtle. Rhoswen had been right, they did fit like a glove.  
Bean was brought out of her thoughts by a tight feeling around her waist. She looked down, and there was Rhoswen—concentrating on tying a white sash just so.

“Uh…” Bean said. “Whatcha doin’?”  
“Finishing piece.” Rhoswen replied, pulling on the sash slightly so that it hung properly. “Now sit down so I can do your hair.”  
“Lynette already did it.”  
“Lynette got the tangles out.” Rhoswen scoffed. “This way I can comb through it—separate it, braid it, put oils into it to make it shine.”  
“Is that a thing?” Bean asked.

“It could be.” Rhoswen said mysteriously. And thus, after Bean was manhandled into a chair, Blodeuwedd behind her braiding her hair into a crown, and Rhoswen patiently applying makeup.  
“Why are you doing that if she’s going to have a thick veil?” Blodeuwedd asked.  
“There is more to a wedding than a ceremony.” Rhoswen said. “No, do _not_ open your mouth Tiabeanie. It needs time to dry.”

“ _Gross_.” Blodeuwedd shivered.  
“Fy nghariaud aur, she means the reception.” Lynette said. “And I agree, why _does_ she need a thick veil?”  
“Pendergast does not necessarily _know_ changes have been made to the wedding.” Rhoswen admitted. “As far as he is aware, he is still marrying Irma.”  
“Ermentrude, Granny.”  
“I mean, we should tell him.” Bean said, causing Rhoswen to frown.

“I agree. I’ll go do it now.” Lynette said.  
Rhoswen scoffed. “No, and now I will relay knowledge to you three that my mother gave me on _my_ wedding day.”  
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Bean visibly cringed. “I already know—”  
“Do not be obtuse. I am not talking about that to the woman who downed a cup of pennyroyal, the woman who was nearly assaulted a few days ago, and the woman who I know for a fact has had three healthy children. Unless Lynette is somehow the second coming of the Virgin Mary, it can be safely assumed that everyone in here knows what _sex_ is.” Rhoswen snapped. “This is not about that.”

“Should I take notes?” Blodeuwedd asked. “About the not-sex thing?”  
“No, a paper trail will do you no good.” Rhoswen said, before turning back to outlining Bean’s eyes in kohl. “Here is the lesson. Men like to be _useful_. Men also like to be in charge, and they don’t like feeling like they _owe_ a woman anything. So, to get what you want, you must be subtle. Like this. If we inform Pendergast of the change in plans, he will focus on the fact that he was more or less pushed into marriage. If it’s framed as the four of us coming together so that true love wins at the last moment, he will _not only_ be sufficiently distracted from that to let go of ill will, he will also think it was done purely out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Wasn’t it?” Lynette said acidly.  
“Of course it was, but you’re not seeing the big picture.” Rhoswen huffed. “This fosters a better relationship not only between us and him, but between us and Tiabeanie here. Now, with these links established, he will be _more_ likely to come home more often, and I will be able to leave this world having met my great-grandchildren.”  
“I told you, I’m not having kids.” Bean pointed out.  
“A discussion for another time.” Rhoswen said.

“You can’t _force_ her to have children.” Lynette snapped.  
“No, but I assume David and his bride know nothing of birth control.” Rhoswen waved her hand dismissively. “What with Hannah saying to Rachel that a man’s seed is sacred and whatnot when I walked by the other day, he cannot know much. Combined with teenage romance, lust will overcome logic. They will return to the bosom of family with her pregnant, and then we will deal with the fallout of that. But is it wrong of me to wish for my family to surround me on my deathbed?” Rhoswen artfully dabbed at where a tearduct should be.

“Hey, you were manipulating me too!” Bean said.  
“No. You’re free to leave at any time, we will simply use Ermentrude instead. There _will_ be a wedding today, even though I wish fervently that my earlier plan—wherein you, and Pendergast remain firmly a part of our family—goes into effect. Though what can I do against such willful children?” Rhoswen threw her hands in the air.

“…are you referencing something?” Blodeuwedd asked. “It seems like you’re referencing something.”  
“I let your brothers roughhouse on a rainy day shortly after you were born.” Lynette said, pinching the bridge of her nose in a very Pendergast-like way. “They ripped a tapestry, and that was my response—because I was overwhelmed and there was nothing I could do about it.”  
“I can’t imagine Pen roughhousing.” Bean cracked a small smile.

“I agree. I thought he learned his lesson about biting years ago.” Rhoswen brushed powder over Bean’s hickey pointedly.  
“Granny!” Blodeuwedd hissed. “I’m going to throw up if you talk about that again.”  
“Do us all a favor and don’t throw up in her hair.” Rhoswen said. “I have visions of this becoming my own version of Sisyphus rolling a boulder up the hill—getting her ready for the wedding, then it is ruined, again and again until I realize I have been dead the whole time and I am in Hell for various sins.”

“Nah, you’d know if you’re in Hell. They make you relive your worst moment over and over. Plus there are demons and lava everywhere—you can’t really miss it.” Bean said.   
Rhoswen narrowed her eyes. “That sounds very confident, but I’ve been told you aren’t one for religion.”  
“What are you implying?” Lynette asked.

“Clearly, you need more help than originally perceived.” Rhoswen muttered to Bean.  
“Rhoswen.” Lynette sighed. “You sound like Hannah.”  
Rhoswen stepped back, annoyed. “I am not a _zealot_. The girl admitted she’d been to Hell—”  
“Her life kind of seems like Hell, yes.”

While the real adults were distracted, Blodeuwedd grabbed Bean’s hand and pulled her out of the room. “You’ve been quiet, are you doing okay?”  
“I’m fine!” Bean said a bit too quickly.  
“Are you bleeding through your new bandages?” Blodeuwedd asked.

“No—hey, no.” Bean said, pulling her arm away. “I just… this is _weird_ , right? The marriage thing?”  
Blodeuwedd glanced towards the room, where Lynette and Rhoswen were still arguing. “Maybe? You can still leave if you want.”  
“No, it’s not about that. It’s just... _weird_.” Bean hugged herself.  
“Is it about Mum and Granny?” Blodeuwedd asked sympathetically. “They both mean it from a place of love, I promise.”

“No, that’s… well, actually, yeah. Kind of. Why are you all being like this?” Bean threw her hands in the air. “So _nice_. No one’s that nice.”  
“We’re not, we just like you.” Blodeuwedd shrugged. “I’m sure you recall Uncle and Thomas, who _don’t_ like you.”  
“No that—getting threatened? That’s normal.”  
“…You really don’t know what it is to be loved, huh?” Blodeuwedd finally said.

Bean made a motion like she was going to run a hand through her hair.  
“Don’t!” Blodeuwedd hissed. “I spent so much time on that!”  
Bean stopped. “It’s just… it’s all weird. Last time, I said I always thought I’d be married for love, and… I guess I am? But it’s not just Pen, it’s… I guess it’s just hitting me that I’m getting married today. For real.”

“Please don’t accidentally maim my brother.” Blodeuwedd said quickly.  
Bean grimaced. “I’m not going to. …I need a drink, it’s been such a long day.”  
“It’s not even noon.”  
“ _Exactly_.”

“Okay, wait wait wait, I know it’s _tempting_ to get drunk so that you no longer feel like… I don’t know, worms in your guts? I assume this is garden variety nervousness. _But_ you stumbling down that aisle is not going to go well. You stumbling up to Penny smelling like alcohol is going to go _very badly_.” Blodeuwedd said quickly.  
“It’s not _garden variety_ —I feel like the walls are closing in!” Bean hissed.  
“That’s just wedding jitters!” Blodeuwedd said. “…just… if everyone wasn’t there, if it was _just_ you and Penny, would it be okay?”

Bean took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Maybe?”  
“So it’s about the people. You won’t be able to see them anyway!” Blodeuwedd said.  
Bean still looked somewhat panicked. “Can I… can I tell you something I’ve never actually _said_ to anyone before?”  
“Go ahead.”  
“I’m a screw up. Everything I do, I mess it up, except drinking. I messed up my mom, I messed up my dad, I’m gonna mess up Pen—” She started to breathe faster, twisting her skirts in her hand.

“Get a grip!” Blodeuwedd said. “You’re not a screw up—you’re one of the most confident people I know!”  
“Yeah, on the _outside_. People don’t _like_ me because they know—”  
“Because they know _absolutely nothing_ about you.” Blodeuwedd interrupted again. “I like you. I know Pen likes you. We all like you!”

“I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop!” Bean hissed, scratching at the dress. “And it will, it always does—”  
“Hey hey hey—no, Granny _will_ execute you on the spot.” Blodeuwedd grabbed Bean’s hands. “Look at me. _Look at me_. I get it. I… I had _one_ job and you nearly died because of it! If anyone’s a screw up, it’s me.”

“No, I’m…”  
“No, that’s what you sound like. And either I’m not, and you’re not, or we both are.”  
“It wasn’t your fault.”  
“It wasn’t yours either. None of it.” Blodeuwedd insisted, grabbing Bean by the shoulders. It was a bit hard for her, since she was shorter, but she seemed just as fierce as Rhoswen. “And don’t you _dare_ cry and ruin your makeup. Granny will kill us both and bury us under Penny’s stupid juniper tree.”

“Why’d she bury your father there?” Bean asked, because it was better than crying.  
“It was less gauche than cutting off his head and sending it to Penny.” Birdy said, shrugging. “It was about sending a _message_.”  
“Jesus.” Bean said, sufficiently distracted for the time being.

“Do you want me to walk with you down the aisle?” Blodeuwedd asked.  
“…nah, it’s okay.” Bean said. “Go get ready.”

Forty-five minutes later, Bean had more or less calmed down as she paced outside the chapel. Inside, Pendergast stared straight ahead, focusing his eye on the crucifix. He was as still as the form of Jesus _on_ said crucifix, and doubtless in just as much pain.  
“Okay, so how good is your Latin?” Blodeuwedd asked, popping up behind Bean.  
“Ah, Jesus Christ!” Bean said.

Blodeuwedd shrugged in lieu of an apology, then handed Bean a bouquet full of roses and orchids. She was in a faded purple dress, with a matching ribbon tying her hair back with a bow. “Okay, but your _Latin_?”  
“I guess it’s okay?” Bean said. “Why do you ask?”  
“’Cause the ceremony’s in Latin!” Blodeuwedd said, pushing Bean through the doors as organ music began. Bean turned to look back, but Blodeuwedd was already picking her way over to her seat, in between Lynette and a younger teenager with similar curls, but darker than even David’s. That must have been the cousin, Rachel.

Pendergast was standing at the altar, back ramrod straight. His hair had clearly been washed and brushed earlier, as it was now curling at the edges and shining like burnished copper. He was in his dress uniform—navy blue and fitted, with a red sash and white gloves.

Bean focused on walking down the aisle, each step coinciding with a heartbeat. It pounded in her ears—could everyone else hear it? Could they see how nervous she was? A sea of unfamiliar faces turned to look at her but Pen wouldn’t— _why couldn’t he look at her_?  
And then she was next to him, and she couldn’t look either. She felt frozen in place.

She hadn’t had to think about Latin in years, but she still caught the gist of it. ‘Do you take this woman’ and so forth. Pendergast sounded like he was reading off of the wall behind the priest—completely emotionless, but she still cheated off of his Latin to fill in the blanks in her own. Husband, husband, what was…? Maritus, right, since he had said _marita_?

She stumbled through it, but no one commented. The worst of it was over.  
“Qui habet annulos?” The priest wheezed out.  
Thomas stepped forward, dropping a ring into Pendergast’s hand, then waiting for her to open hers. She did. She slid the ring onto Pendergast’s finger shakily, then waited as he gently did the same. There was still no emotion on his face.  
“Ausculor tua sponsa.” The priest said.

And then the veil was going up.  
Pendergast froze.  
“Hi.” Bean whispered.  
“Hi.” He whispered back, blinking rapidly, like she would disappear in a minute.  
The priest tapped Pendergast on the shoulder. “ _Ausculor_ , non conspiciunt.”

“Okay, that part doesn’t need to be in Latin—” Pendergast argued, before Bean decided ‘fuck it’. She jumped slightly, pulling him into a kiss.  
He caught her. Of course he caught her, he always caught her.

The priest made a sound like he was going to die in a minute.  
“Can you two _stop_ now, so we can all go drink?” Thomas asked dryly. “Or does that need to be repeated twice as well?”  
They did not stop kissing.

“Alright, drinking time!” Thomas announced, walking down the aisle. “Unless you all want to _keep_ looking directly at them.”  
There was suddenly a flurry of movement.  
The priest began poking Pendergast in the shoulder again. “Placere relinquere.”

Pendergast did not leave, but he did put Bean down. The priest made an annoyed noise, and began pushing at them physically. Thus, they ended up outside of the chapel, trailing flowers from Bean’s bouquet since she had more or less crushed it between them.

“How is this possible?” Pendergast asked.  
“Your mom, Rhoswen, and Birdy helped.” Bean shrugged. “I was going to fight for you, even if you weren’t going to fight for me—”  
“I will always fight for you.” Pendergast interrupted. “…I have a problem saying no to authority figures, though.”

Bean glanced back inside the chapel, and the priest gave her a dirty look. “Yeah, I can tell.”  
“But you’re _here_. You came for me.” He said, almost in awe.  
She fidgeted. “Well, yeah. Of course I did. I told you, I wanted you to stay.”  
He snorted. “You realize you can’t get rid of me, right? At least… we can discuss that later.”

“No, no _discussion_.” Bean snapped. “You’re mine, you put this ring on my finger, you can’t just _leave_.”  
He pulled her into a hug. “I don’t want to. I don’t. I want to go out there and show off my gorgeous wife and smile and dance with you. I want to have a proper wedding night with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and grow old with you, and be buried next to you when we both die.”  
“You’re already married.” The priest said gruffly, as he walked over to shut the chapel doors.

“Hey, that wasn’t in Latin!” Bean protested.  
“Sit Deus det mihi vires.” The priest replied, before firmly shutting the doors. The force of it blew Bean’s veil off completely, and it fluttered to the floor, unnoticed.  
“So no discussion.” Bean said firmly.  
“Discussion after celebration?” Pen tried. “And you don’t run off?”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and he pulled her into another kiss.  
“I’m serious, I need to talk to you about this.” Pendergast muttered as they pulled apart.  
“Fine, but first, let’s party.” Bean said, grabbing his hand. He led her into the Great Hall, bustling with people and light and music. And it was a gorgeous, glittering moment.

Neither of them could stop grinning, and they could barely keep their hands off of each other. Pendergast, for example, kept a hand on her waist almost all the time, like he had to keep touching her to make sure she was real. That he had to make sure she stayed as close as possible, like he was savoring that time with her. She leaned a head on his shoulder. Stupid sentimental Pendergast. She had _married_ him—she wouldn’t let him go _now_. He was hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qui habet annulos? -- Who has the rings?  
> Ausculor tua sponsa -- Kiss your bride.  
> Ausculor, non conspicuint -- Kiss, don't stare.  
> Placere relinquere -- Please leave.  
> Sit Deus det mihi vires. -- May God grant me strength.


	19. Don't worry, no one they're related to knows they're in the middle of fucking, besides Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding night. If you want to skip the smut, go from "I will always kneel for you princess." to "I think we should move to the bed for the next part."

Pendergast and Bean were in an empty stairway off of the Great Hall.

They were most definitely not _supposed_ to be. They were supposed to be at the party—failing that, they were supposed to be in the bridal chamber that had been so carefully prepared. They were not headed there either; they were headed to _their_ room.

More specifically, she was pushed up against the wall while he bit her neck and she _gasped_ for him, her skirt bunched up around her legs.   
“I shouldn’t fuck you here.” Pendergast said, very much implying a _but_ at the end of that sentence.   
“Or, you _could_ …” Bean pulled him closer. She needed him…

“You deserve a proper wedding night.”   
“Sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of it.”   
“I am. You _know_ I am.”   
She gave a lustful giggle. “Yeah. I _know_.” Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and there were about three layers of cloth between them—her stockings, his breeches, and his brailles.

“We’re going to get _caught.”_ He groaned. “You’re not quiet.”   
She nipped at his neck. “You _love_ it.”   
That was when Thomas walked by, shielding his eyes. “If this is a trick to make me stop drinking by sullying the stairwell to the cellar, it won’t work.”   
“Piss off, Thomas!” Pendergast snapped.   
“Penny, I cannot tell you how much I do not want to be here either. Pick a less public stairwell if you can’t make it to your marriage bed. Regardless of my opinions on my new sister-in-law—hello terrible sister in law, I’m so glad you still have your clothes on—this is just plain nasty.”

“Hi, Thomas.” Bean snapped. “Go away.”   
Thomas shrugged, still keeping his hand up in front of his eyes. “It’s only a matter of time until Uncle comes in. No one wants that. Consider it my wedding gift.”   
With that, he nearly sprinted down the stairs. Bean and Pendergast took the opportunity to leave and head back to their room properly.

They barely managed to make it, shutting the door behind them—mostly because Pendergast then immediately pushed Bean up against it, much like the wall previously. She complied willingly.   
“Take off that dress.” He panted. “Or I’ll rip it off of you.”   
“You’re so eager.” She laughed. “We fucked yesterday.”

“That was before you were my _wife_.” He kissed her neck with each word. “Fy ngwraig. _Fy ngwraig_ …”   
“You always use Welsh to be _sweet_.”   
“Would you prefer I dirty-talked you, and you didn’t understand a word?”   
She grinned at him. “I don’t think you could dirty talk if you tried.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.   
She curled a hand into his hair, and _pulled_. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re _mine_. Not the other way around, got that?”   
She kissed his neck where his jaw connected, and smirked as she felt the heat under his skin. She nipped at it, and savored feeling him swallow.   
“Pen,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Got that?”

“Of course, princess.” He ground out. _Oh_.   
“Kneel.” She ordered in her best ‘princess’ voice. “Now.”   
“Even though we’re still dressed?”   
She _tugged_ and he groaned. “Kneel.” She repeated. “But… you’re right. Get undressed.”

He knelt, and she slid her stockings off, bunching her dress in her hands.   
“I will always kneel for you, princess.” He purred, running his hands up to grip her. “I’m a loyal knight, after all…”   
“M-mouth, not hands…” She sounded close to whimpering. One hand held those stupid skirts, the other still tangled in his hair.

He was a good husband, and a loyal knight. However, he pulled back after a minute, trailing kisses up her thigh.   
“I didn’t say _stop_.”   
“You taste different.” He was well aware of the irony imbued in the next word, with his tongue in a princess, draped in silk and satin. “ _Richer_ , somehow.”

She smelled different too. He’d have to make her _sweat_ to get rid of the sweet herbal scents so that he could get back to her proper salty-sweet scent that made his mouth water. His princess didn’t wear these fine dresses or _makeup_ or any of this. His princess had a perfect ass in those leggings, and a quick grin, and those _freckles_ , and her hair like a halo, and smelled _perfect_. He was her husband, but she was _his_ princess. They belonged to each other.

So, he turned his attention back to the task at… well, not at hand, but rather at mouth. He closed his eye and savored the feeling, the taste, the _sound_ of her breath hitching and her little moans as she got closer and closer. He nipped at her, enjoying her shuddering breath and her fingers tangling in his hair. “Fy ngwraig…” He muttered into her thighs. She shivered again, savoring the vibrations, and he hummed as he went along. He was a loyal knight kneeling for his princess, and he would please her however she desired.

Which is why he was vaguely surprised, but not overly so, when she _finally_ took off that dress, and pushed him onto his back. And then— _and then­_ —he was inside her and nothing else mattered. Hot, wet, _tight_ …   
“Look at me Pen. _Look at me_.”   
He opened his eye. Her hands were on his chest, stablising her while she kept her seat. Her nails dug in, careful of old scars. She was biting her lip, and her eyes were fluttering as she rode hard and fast, him bucking occasionally under her to go _deeper_. He needed to be deep inside her. His _gorgeous_ wife.

He reached a hand up to cup her face, and she growled, pushing his wrist back down and pinning it. “Who’s in charge, Pen?”   
“You are, princess.” He groaned. He was made for following orders— _her_ orders.

She rocked back harder, and he stifled a moan. She smirked down at him, hair beginning to filter out.   
“You feel so _good_ , Pen…” She purred. “So good…”   
“Prin-princess…” He panted.   
She deliberately slowed down, leaning forward and back so that he felt more and more of her.

“Please.” He begged.   
She grinned at him. “Please, _what_?”   
“Please let me fuck you.”   
The grin grew. “I thought we were already fucking.”   
“ _Please_.”

“Flip, then.”   
He did. He flipped them both, slamming her into the floor.   
“Are you okay—”   
“I didn’t say _stop_.” She looked up at him with those big blue eyes, and he ground into her, savoring the little gasp she gave.

“Should I make you beg for it too, princess?”   
She wrapped her legs around him. “No. You should just _fuck_ me since you want to so bad.”   
“Your wish is my command.” He reangled himself to push down into her, just as deep as before, as her nails scratched at his back and she moaned for him.

He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, her ears, her jaw. Anything to make her scream. One hand squeezed her breast, the other slipped down to where they met to ensure her _scream_. He wanted to make her feel good. He _needed_ her to enjoy this as much as he did.

She arched against him. “ _Pen_ …”   
Harder, faster, she needed to be nearly incoherent. Supporting her on his knees, his fingers circled her clit again and again, in time with his thrusts. “Cum for me, princess…”   
“Sh-shouldn’t that be my line?” She sat up so that she was in his lap, nearly mimicking their position previously, beside the fact that he had so much more control. He marked her again and again—her collarbone, her breasts, her _neck_. He could get through the perfume, and taste her underneath. She was _his_ —how _dare_ they try and change her?

Harder, faster, deeper. He ground his teeth, his grip tightening on her, and she moaned into his shoulder. He was close, but she was closer. He knew her. “Good girl.” He purred.   
“Pen, I want…”   
“Mm?” He was so much better at pretending it didn’t affect him than she was. “What do you want, princess?”   
“I want—I want you to cum…” She muttered into his shoulder, before biting.   
“Scream my name, and I might…” He ground out.

Her hands, which had been wrapped around him, moved once again to pull his hair. Fuck, she was fond of that particular weakness of his, wasn’t she? The other hand came to his throat, firm but not painful. Blue eyes met a brown one.

“Cum.” She ordered, before leaning forward to nuzzle his neck. “For me?”   
Eager to please, he grabbed her hips and _fucked_.   
“Pen-Pen- _Pen_ —” She began to chant, hands tightening.   
He groaned. “Princess, _please_ … Bean…”   
Another blessed gasp. “So good, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop… so good… my good knight…”   
He kissed her hard, sucking on her bottom lip and drawing it through his teeth.

She whimpered, and he moved on. “What else, _my princess_?”   
“Not yours, mine…” She panted. “Mine, mine, mine, _mine_ …!” She came to that, and he followed soon after, when those blue eyes fluttered again and she whispered, “ _Please_ , Pendergast.”   
He could never refuse her anything. With a groan, he spilled into her.

“I think we should move to the bed for the next part.” He muttered into her hair.   
“Okay…” She ground out, nestling close to him. With an evil grin, he hefted her up—and threw her squarely onto the bed, before joining her.   
“Asshole!” She laughed.

He curled around her. “Don’t be _cruel_ , my loving wife.”   
“Eugh, nooo.” She mock groaned.   
He kissed her shoulder, grinning. “My _wife_ … my _bride_ , my better half… my spouse… my… consort? I’m running out of them.”   
“Serves you right.” She laughed again, and he pulled her close, tangling their limbs together.

“So about that discussion.” Pendergast began.   
“What’s there to discuss?” Bean muttered, annoyed.   
“Well, you’re going to need to kill me.” Pendergast said.   
“Pen, I’m not in the mood for jokes about Guysbert.” Bean snapped.

“It’s not a joke. I am a knight, you’re a princess. He was a prince, I’m not _better_ than him.”   
“Pen…” She huffed, nestling into his neck. “You’re such a fucking idiot sometimes. I’m not killing you—and hey, I didn’t even really kill Guysbert. That was an accident.”   
“Fine, this isn’t about Guysbert anyway.” Pendergast growled. “This is about—I am a knight, you’re a princess.”

“You keep saying that like it _means_ something.”   
“It does! Princesses don’t marry knights!”   
“I. Just. Did.” Bean said slowly.   
Pendergast began playing with the strands of hair that had worked free from her braid. “No, I mean… your father will kill me. I’ve dishonored you—I’ve whisked you away and married you, and I’m not worthy.”

“That’s complete horseshit!”   
“That’s what they will think.” Pendergast shrugged.   
Bean scoffed. “My dad will just be glad I’m married.”   
“No, because it lets other people think they can get away with it. Don’t you understand? If your father finds out, it’s not just me! It’ll be Mum and Birdy and Granny and everyone who could be labelled a _conspirator_.” Pendergast huffed. “We’ll all be led up to the gallows _together_.”

“It’s—no, I wouldn’t let that happen.” Bean said.   
“I won’t let it happen.” Pendergast agreed. “Which is why tomorrow, when we make camp, I’m going to give you a knife, and you should slit my throat. Cleanly, quickly, and then blame it on highwaymen. This goes away, and my family—including you—are all protected.”

She struggled out of his grip, and he let her—then she did something unexpected. She straddled his waist, pressing her weight firmly down onto him. “Listen up.”   
“I’m listening but—”   
“No. Shut up.” She ordered.   
He shut up.

“This is all going to be _fine_. No one’s going to die, not you, and certainly not Birdy.”   
“You can’t–”   
“Shush. I’m still talking.”   
He shut his mouth with a click.   
“You’re spiraling, Pen. It’s going to be okay. You know why? We’re just not going to tell him.”

“…what?”   
“We’re not going to tell him.”   
“But that’s—that’s a lie. I can’t lie, princess.”   
“ _Bean_ , we’re not fucking.” She corrected. “Princess is for when I have you on your knees. And it’s not a lie. We just won’t tell him.”   
He looked like he was going to panic. “But I… but that’s…”

“There’s lots of stuff you don’t tell my dad, right? This is just one more thing. It’s all _fine_.”   
“…what if you get pregnant?” Pendergast said, eye flickering down to her abdomen.   
“I’m…” Bean shifted, and there was a bit of blood.

“…what?” Pendergast said.   
“I’m on my period now I guess.”   
“You’re bleeding! Why are you so nonchalant!”

“Because this happens all the time?”   
“ _What_?!”   
She climbed off of him. “It’s—your grandmother said this would happen. So I don’t get pregnant.”   
If possible, he somehow looked more panicked. “ _What_?! Are you—is this a miscarriage?”   
She crinkled her nose. “No? This happens every month. I mean, it’s due in two weeks, but I sped it up a bit. I don’t want kids.”

“…never?” He asked softly, before clearing his throat. “You’re right, of course, bigger problems—I’m sorry, do you just bleed out all over everything?!” There was already blood beading the sheet. A mockery of a broken hymen.

“Nah, usually there’s rags—where are you going?”   
“To get you this stuff!” Pendergast said. “Wh—what if you _bleed out_?”   
He pulled on his brailles and the dress trousers, and yanked open the door—nearly tripping over a basket and tray neatly laid out.

Inside the basket were several rags, and on the tray, there were too mugs of steaming apple tea, a vial, and a note. Obviously, Pendergast brought them all inside, handing them to Bean. She took the rags, and situated them… well, where he had been shortly before. She then wiped the make up off of her face with a spare rag, and something in him uncoiled. He rejoined her on the bed, taking off the trousers, and leaving the brailles on.

Bean, meanwhile, flicked open the note. She read, in a spidery, looping handwriting,

‘ _My darling daughter in law,_

_I sent a servant up in case you two had not gone to the bridal chamber. I am given to understand that you drank the pennyroyal provided earlier, which leads me to believe that your monthly will presumably be coming soon. I was unsure what you had, so I wanted to make sure that you had something on standby so that you would feel welcome and free of worry on a special night._

_I assume that you took the pennyroyal as a pre-emptive measure. I know you and my son love each other very much, and don’t want to assume anything. However, I know that sometimes, your first time can be a bit rough, and hurt a bit. Furthermore, I know that sometimes a monthly can be rough on one’s body. Included for both these reasons is a small vial of an herbal painkiller—diluted milk of the poppy. Add it to your tea if you so wish._

_Much love to both of you,_

_Your mother in law,  
Lynette E. P. Griffiths’ _

“…your mom just gave me drugs.” Bean said.   
“ _What_?!”   
She grabbed the vial while he read the note. He relaxed slightly, and took his own mug, moving the tray and basket to the floor and sitting up with her to drink his tea.   
“So… about children…” He said slowly. “I know we can never have them, because obviously, the secret… but in a perfect world, would we?”

She looked at her mug, before deciding she definitely didn’t want to have this conversation. Drugs it was. She downed the vial.   
“You know you’re not supposed to take them like that.” Pendergast for once didn’t sound judgy, he just sounded tired.   
“What? Why?”

“You’re supposed to mix them into something. Otherwise…” He sighed, watching her pupils dilate. “Yeah, there we go.”   
“These aren’t even that hard.”   
“I would hope not.”   
“How do you know about drugs?” Bean huffed.

“Got injured several times in the crusades. I wouldn’t take drink for most of them. I was such a mess with the eye that I didn’t really have a choice.” Pendergast pointed out. “It’s not fun feeling a needle stitch you up.”

Bean was getting that floaty loss of sensation, so she finished her tea and cuddled up to him. He had no business being so warm… so hot… both kinds of hot…   
He gently ran a hand through her hair, undoing the braids.   
“Why d’you want kids so bad anyway?” She slurred.

“Because… well, I want to have someone to protect, and teach wrong from right. I want to have children with _you_ , and love them, and see you love them, and watch them grow up, and…”   
“Rambling.” She nestled into the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him. “…you could get a dog?”   
“It’s not the same.” Pendergast said gently.   
Bean crinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t be a good mom anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”   
“Don’t know how. Both my parents suck. Don’t wanna have a kid just to fuck them up too. That-that’s _mean_ , Pen.”   
His hand was so gentle. “I don’t think… I think you’d have to make an effort at it, but I think… you’re not a bad person. And you learned from your parents what _not_ to do. You’re better than you think you are.”

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you love me.”   
“I’m not. …it doesn’t matter anyway, since we have the secret.”   
“Mm… you’d be a good dad.” And yes, she could nearly _see_ him toting a little girl with shining ginger hair around on his shoulders.   
“Well, since you don’t want children, I don’t think it really matters. I’m not going to anyone else’s bed. …you wouldn’t fuck them up, you know.”

She dazedly looked up at him, and he shrugged. “I know you. I know you’d at least _try_ with them. And that’s all anyone can ask. That’s a hell of a lot better than most people I know.”   
Bean crinkled her nose at him. “Having one good parent and one bad parent still fucks kids up.”   
“You would be a lot better than you think.” Pendergast said softly. “There’s a lot of kindness in you.”   
She had decided that this was more or less over, and it was time to go to sleep.

“And whatever you think about me, and whether I’ll ever stop loving you, you know children love their mothers unconditionally. You’ll always have someone who loves you, no matter what happens to me.”   
“Is this you trying to be sly?” Bean muttered sleepily. “It’s not working.” (It was kind of working.)   
“…good night, _fy ngwraig_.” He kissed the top of her head, still gently playing with her hair.

She slipped into a deep sleep. It was completely his fault that she dreamed about children with white hair and brown eyes smiling up at her, or him pacing with a crying baby, gently trying to shush her. His fault that she dreamed about telling a completely ludicrous story to a giggling little boy with his hair and eyes. His fault that she dreamed about trying to make a little girl with white hair smile which she bandaged her knee, while she could hear him in the background absolutely laying into someone about it. Overprotective bastard would probably lock their kids up to keep them from getting hurt if she didn’t tell him what a bad idea it was.


	20. Luci's Really Just Guessing I promise

They left the next day, to stay ahead of the rain. Bean’s head was a lot clearer by then, apparently Lynette really knew her stuff. There was also a lot more fanfare about them leaving than there had been when they had left Dreamland. Bean felt like she’d been hugged more by Lynette and Blodeuwedd—and Rhoswen!—than she ever had before in her life.

“Hey, we’re not _dying_.” She joked.   
“I simply hope we’ll see you both again before I am on my deathbed.” Rhoswen said, folding her hands in front of her.   
“Well that—” Pendergast began.   
“Are you kidding me? Of course!” Bean interrupted. She was rewarded with a lot of smiles—including one from Pendergast (though he turned away when she looked at him, and pretended he hadn’t been smiling at all). Dork.

Lynette pulled a small parcel out of seemingly nowhere.   
“No—no more packages.” Pendergast said firmly. This _reaction_ did not come from nowhere. Bean’s wedding dress had been repackaged and was currently in a saddlebag, there were several wedding presents that had been given to them as the actual bride and groom, Lynette had already given them both parcels of food for the road, including apples from her garden, honey rolls, leftover cake, small stone jugs of cold chamomile tea, and other leftovers that weren’t mentioned at the time. She had also given them a change of bandages for Bean’s arm, and multiple salves that would far outlast the journey. When commented upon, she had simply said that they never knew what might happen upon the road.

“This isn’t for you.” Lynette said. “Bean, this is a few sachets of dried pennyroyal—for emergencies, and wild carrot seed—for regular use. Steep them in hot water and drink it.”   
Bean’s face felt very hot. “Ah. Thank you.”   
Pendergast pinched the bridge of his nose. “Could these have not gone with the _other_ herbs that we might _potentially_ need on the road?”   
“No, since they’re both used for birth control.” Lynette said cheerfully.

Pendergast stared, before his face turned red. “I—you—please don’t talk to my wife about that in front of me! And-and what about Birdy? This knowledge might corrupt—”   
“Machgen, stop talking.” Lynette said gently. “Blodeuwedd knows what these herbs are. She knows what sex is. I would prefer that all my children have children of their own when they choose.”

Pendergast nodded, burying his face in his hands.   
Bean laughed. “Thanks, Lynette.”   
“Of course, fy nghariad gwyn. Write to me if you need more. Write anyway, please.” Lynette grinned.

While Pendergast was otherwise distracted, Blodeuwedd snuck up and gave him an extra hug. “I… sorry I said all that stuff. I miss you, and I don’t want you to stop writing to me, please. Please don’t stop trying to protect everybody either.”   
Pendergast gently hugged her back. “I wasn’t going to.”

Bean and Pendergast were finally allowed to get underway. It wasn’t as awkward as she had kind of been worried about—he didn’t bring up kids or anything. He just sort of lightly teased her, trying to get her to smile. It worked, and some of the tension eased out of her.

“So when are you going to go back to being Pen-dick-gast?” Bean asked when they stopped for the night.   
“…okay, you need to be more specific.”   
“My dad’s lackey.” Bean huffed, leaning against him, watching the flames flicker.

There was a pause. “When we start pretending nothing happened, you mean?”   
She flicked an apple seed into the flames. “Yeah, that.”   
“I don’t know.” Pendergast admitted. “Presumably when we get to the gates, but… I like this. I like this _kindness_ between us.”   
She flicked an apple seed at _him_. “You mean you like fucking.”

“I like _everything_ about being married to you so far, fy ngwraig.” He purred. “For example, I like this, and I like it when you smile around me instead of treating me like shit beneath your heel.”   
She finally turned to look at him. “I didn’t!”   
“Mm.”   
“I was just—you were a dick first, so I was just… treating you how you treated me.” Bean fidgeted slightly, turning away again, and he rested his head on her shoulder. “I was never trying to make an enemy of you, princess.”

“You were still a dick.” She insisted.   
There was a pause, and Pendergast sighed. “You… I can’t be the gallant knight around you, can I?”   
“Not for me, no.”   
She felt his shoulders shaking, and whipped around, to find him trying to hide laughter.

“I… for the longest time, before I realized I wanted _you_ , I would have been mad about that.” He nipped at her throat. “I love your fire, princess. I love going back and forth with you. And I know full well you were behaving yourself this week, and thank you for that, but I love that kind of sparring with you. I can’t promise I’ll stop pissing you off—especially since we’re supposed to be pretending to be _normal_ , but… I’ll try.”

“Pfft, you’re not going to be able to keep away from me, are you?” Bean snorted.   
The grin faded slightly. “I… no. I’m very worried about that. I don’t think I’m too good at _pretending_ , princess.”   
“You keep calling me _princess_.”   
“I’m supposed to get back into the habit.”

She readjusted herself in his lap, meeting his eye. “You know, not everything could change. We could say we made friends during the week. It’s not like it’s not true.”   
He licked his lips. “So we’re not addressing the _princess_ comment…?”   
“It’s beginning to grow on me.” Bean admitted, before pulling him into a kiss. He groaned into her mouth as she scraped her teeth against his bottom lip. “Only from you, though.”

“Only for you…” He muttered back, before he pulled her back, his hands tangled in her hair. “I would do _anything_ for you.”   
“Anything?” Bean murmured against his lips.  
“You’re my wife.” Pendergast replied simply, pulling her close.   
“Mm… I prefer saying you’re my husband.” Bean replied.

“Eich gwr.” Pendergast said softly. “Or, you would say, fy ngwr…”   
She cut him off with a kiss. “It’s our last night before we get home.”   
“I—you deserve better than the ground, and what about the blood…”   
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”   
“I want to!” He said quickly. “I want as much of you as you’ll let me have.”

This coupling wasn’t as frenzied or as rough as some of their other ones. It was gentle, and they took the time to explore one another.   
“I love you, I love you, I love you…” He muttered into her neck, holding her close.   
But more importantly, she chanted it back, perched in his lap, looking him in the eye, fingers curled in his hair. And that just made him love her more. His wife.

When they finally pulled apart—and cleaned off, from a nearby stream, even if it was the most enjoyable way Pendergast had ever been covered in someone else’s blood, dried blood was nothing he would enjoy—they quickly returned to each other, talking quietly and tracing circles into each other’s skin.

“And where’d this one come from?” Bean asked softly, tracing a scar white with age on his chest.   
“Shield splintered during practice. Wasn’t wearing plate, scratched me up bad.”   
She snickered. “Doesn’t sound so _knightly_.”   
“Unfortunate that I wear plate on all our official adventures.”   
“You didn’t wear plate this week.”

“And I have the scratches and bites to prove it, my hellcat.”   
Bean laughed. “Not sure if I like that better than princess.”   
“You _did_ just scratch my back up some more. And you did the same last night, and the night before.” He gently took her hand and kissed her fingertips.   
“Hah, well, you can probably get away with calling me hellcat more than Bean.”

“If I know for a fact that your cat can’t speak Welsh, I’ll call you _fy ngwraig_ when we get home.”   
“Luci?” Bean asked. “What the hell does he have to do with this?”   
“The cat _knows_ things.” Pendergast insisted. “He mocks me.”   
“He mocks everybody.” Bean said dismissively.

“He _knows_ things.” Pendergast repeated, nuzzling her neck. They fell asleep like that, curled up together. They managed to make it back to Dreamland proper without incident, and Pendergast forced his smile off of his face. As expected, the cat and elf were excited to see Bean, and he helped her down from Ribbons.

“She’s not a doll, Pendergast.” The cat snarked, before immediately scurrying up Bean’s shoulder. “…blood, estrogen… you’re on your period! That’s weird, you had it two weeks ago.”   
“You track my periods?” Bean asked, aghast.   
“Yeah?” The cat said, like it was obvious. “Being in pain puts you in a bad mood, which makes you mean, which makes it easier to have you do asshole shit.”

“Gadewch lonydd iddi.” Pendergast muttered, leading Carrots and Ribbons towards the stable.   
“Yeah? And since when does it matter to you?” The cat demanded.   
Pendergast shot Bean a look about how he was right, and she shrugged.   
“The princess’ wellbeing has always been my concern.”

The elf scoffed _very_ loudly, but didn’t say anything.   
“Do you need help with anything, princess?” Pendergast asked, ignoring him.   
“Nah, I’ve got it.” Bean feigned being casual, but he could _see_ her tongue dart out and wet her bottom lip. “Luci and Elfo can help too.”   
The cat laughed. “You mean _Elfo_ can help.”

Pendergast shrugged. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you around. Once I have my armor back on, I’ll be officially on duty.”   
“Yeah, you can’t abandon your duty, can you?” Bean grinned at him.   
“Never, princess.” Pendergast took a step towards her.   
“…what is _happening_?” The elf asked.

“Shhh, let them embarrass themselves.” The cat said. “…wait. _Wait_. Bean, you _didn’t_.”   
“Didn’t what?” The elf asked him as the cat began cackling madly.  
“I should probably go—” Pendergast began.   
“What’s that on your ring finger?” The cat scampered up onto Pendergast’s shoulder.

Pendergast covered his left hand with his right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing on my right hand.”   
“Yeah, ‘cause I wasn’t… no. No, you can’t be serious.”   
“I don’t know what you _think_ happened, but nothing happened between Pen… dergast and me.” Bean coughed awkwardly, hoping Elfo and Luci hadn’t noticed the nickname.

She also tried to casually hide her left hand as well.   
From Pendergast’s shoulder, Luci scrutinized her, before laughing. “I guess you’re right. For a second, I almost thought you and Pendergast were _married_ , and having sex.”   
“As amusing as you seem to find it, I do still have to put the horses away.” Pendergast said, accidentally moving his hand.

Bean winced as she saw the glint of metal in the sunlight. Pendergast quickly hid his hand again.   
“Seems to me like you were the one who got married when you left for your _cousin’s_ wedding.” Luci said, smirking.   
“I don’t see how that would be any of your business if I _did_.” Pendergast snapped.   
Luci’s eyes flicked between him and Bean. “Ooh, someone sounds _defensive_.”   
“Leave him alone Luci. We’ve got better things to do than bug Pendergast all day.” Bean huffed.

She finally left—with a bunch of parcels, including Lynette’s parting gift, and Rhoswen’s mother’s dress. She could feel him watching her with every step. Stupid horny Pendergast, making her remember his hands and mouth on her.   
Elfo and Luci helped with the stuff she brought to her room—and while they were distracted, she fished around an old jewelry box, and found a chain to slide her own ring onto, and then hide it beneath her clothes.

“So, if not Pendergast, who were you banging?” Luci said lazily.   
“Pft, what?” Bean scoffed.   
“You took an emmenagogue.” Luci pointed out, hopping up onto her bed and curling up.

“What’s an em—an emmagogue?” Elfo asked.   
“An _emmenagogue_ is a special form of birth control. And since Bean’s period is due in _two_ weeks, not _this_ week, I’m guessing she had one recently. C’mooooon, you can tell us about your boytoy.”   
“It’s not… fine, there was a guy.” Bean huffed. “But it’s over now.”

“Nooo, give us _details_!” Luci said.   
“Luci!” Elfo hissed. “Bean’s first time is a special thing, for her and her partner!”   
“It wasn’t my first time.” Bean corrected. “It was uh… my second, and third, and fourth, and… fifth.”   
“Oh, Bean.” Elfo sighed, as Luci cackled. “That’s our girl! Details! Oh, oh, was it Pendergast’s brother?”

Bean crinkled her nose in disgust. “Ew, no. Thomas is rude as shit.”   
“Oh? Like a certain knight?” Elfo pointed out.   
Bean glared at him. “No. Thomas is just _rude_ and _mean_ , and… he can be _cruel_.”   
“Pendergast literally killed me.” Elfo replied.

“He’s not—that wasn’t him! He’s not that bad, he’s kind of cute, and he’s _such_ a dork. He can be so gentle though, there’s not just _blood_ on his hands.” Bean spat. “He loves making things be _orderly_ , but he’s not always a bastard about it. Especially if you get through to him! He’s a dumbass, but he’s _my_ dumbass!”   
“Oh my God.” Elfo said.

“Welp, I think we found out about Mr. Second, Third, Fourth, and Fifth.” Luci said. “Question is, was this before or _after_ he got married?”   
“What do you mean?” Elfo asked.   
“Oh, Pendergast’s definitely married. I saw the ring myself. But you know what I didn’t see? Anyone but Bean and Pendergast. Where’s his wife?”

The ring burned against her skin. “It’s… what are you implying?”   
“I’m _implying_ that you fucked a married guy, ‘cause you’re kind of a mess. I’m glad that you kept causing trouble while I wasn’t there to guide you—makes a guy feel special about his impact on you.”   
Bean’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t! Not like that! You know me!”   
“Well… I didn’t know you’d already had your cherry popped. So, who’s to say _what_ we know?”

“Luci!” Elfo hissed. “Bean _wouldn’t_ commit adultery! She has some standards!”   
“I like to think that I am slowly wearing away at them. She _did_ sleep with Pendergast after all.” Luci snickered.   
“It was a… not a one time, but a four time thing.” Bean hissed. “Let it go.”   
“What, the fact that you slept with a guy who’s clearly obsessed with you, and think _he’ll_ just let it go?”   
“He’s not obsessed with me!” Bean snapped. “He’s _married_ , remember?”

Luci headed towards the door. “He’s in _love_ with you.” He called in a singsong voice. “I feel bad for any wife that has to _compete_ with that, haha.”   
“Joke’s on you, he’s in love with his wife.” Bean snapped. “He’ll tell you himself.”   
“Hmm…” Was all Luci gave as a reply, before he darted out, laughing.

Meanwhile, Pendergast, once he had put away clothes and horses and the like, was back in armor. His wedding ring was covered by gauntlets, but the stupid, loud cat had still ruined everything.

By nightfall, everyone in the kingdom would know he was married.   
And then there would be _questions_ about his wife.   
And then there would be an execution.

Already, people were turning to look at him as he walked down the hallway to the throne room.   
“Hey, Gast!” The king said, once he opened the doors. “How’re ya?”   
“I am… I’m here to report for duty.” Pendergast shrugged.   
“Lord knows you’ve presumably had enough duty for a while, having to have dragged Tiabeanie along. Are there any damages that we must repay your family for?” Odval sighed, coming out from behind Zog’s throne.

“Wh—oh. No. She-she was injured though.” Pendergast admitted. “I failed in my duty.”   
“What happened?” Zog asked.   
“She and my sister went out, and were accosted by bandits. She killed the leader, he injured her arm in the process. I am given to understand that it’s healing nicely, but I still accept all punishment.”

“That’s it?” Zog asked, sharing a look with Odval.   
“That’s it.” Pendergast said. “I accept all responsibility for the princess’ injury—”   
“Gast, Beanie’s a fuckin’ nightmare to look aftah.” Zog pointed out. “A little scratch ain’t that bad. Good on ya.”   
“Especially since you were otherwise preoccupied.” Odval said smoothly.

Zog leaned forward. “Yeah, we heard ya got _married_!”   
“I did.” Pendergast said slowly. “My cousin and his intended bride ran away, so a stand-in was needed. I was considered the next best choice.”   
“S’good, you should have somebody.” Zog said. “You’re…, what, 35?”   
“22.”   
“Still a good time t’settle down.” Zog insisted. “Have some kids, y’know?”

“I am in complete agreement with the king.” Odval said. “We wish you every happiness with your wife, and look forward to when you are able to announce your own fatherhood.”   
Pendergast stared at them. “Do you… do you know who I married?”   
“No. Does it mattah?” Zog asked.   
“…no. I’m sure you’ll see her soon anyway.” Pendergast said faintly. 

From the shadows, Luci snickered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eich gwr. Fy ngwr. -- Your husband. My husband.   
> Gadewch lonydd iddi -- Leave her alone.


	21. Merkimer joins the Alice Defense Squad

Pendergast and Bean more or less avoided one another for the ensuing week. Which was fine, really, because it made the cat shut up.

It was also not fine, because Pendergast had really missed having someone _there_. He missed making her smile, and laugh, and he missed being more than a soldier. He missed seeing her in more than _glimpses_. There were other things that he also missed, that he was _stupid_ to get used to, and had already been to confession about.

Unfortunately, the Archdruidess wouldn’t give him penance for it, so he had to seek out the second best option.   
Merkimer was a second son, and therefore had been loosely trained for the clergy, on the off chance that Guysbert had survived to the point of having heirs. It was also part of his official _job_ to watch Merkimer.

“So, let me get this straight.” Merkimer said as Pendergast nailed a peg onto the side of Merkimer’s preferred alleyway, so that he could slip his overly sized sweater on and off without hands. “You miss your wife?”   
“That’s not the _sinful_ part.” Pendergast snapped.   
“Right, right, you miss having _sex_ with your wife.” Merkimer said. He was currently wearing said sweater, sent by Queen Bunny during Pendergast’s absence. It was a truly hideous chartreuse, but the woman had married her own brother. Pendergast assumed she wasn’t brimming with taste.

“Just tell me what I need to do to make God forgive me.”   
“While I understand your highly Catholic guilt, I can’t imagine God is that angry. It sounds as though it’s very heterosexual p in v, if you catch my drift. Just have your wife come to the capital.”

Ah, yes. Pendergast had more or less cultivated the idea that his wife was still at Caer Griffiths, because he had no desire to have his family die for his stupidity. He should have remembered the ring…   
“The capital isn’t exactly _safe_.” Pendergast pointed out.   
Merkimer yawned. “I _suppose_ not, but even I can see those dark circles under your eyes. Just get a whore…”

Merkimer trailed off at the look that Pendergast was giving him.   
“I will _never_ dishonor my wife.” Pendergast growled.   
“…you really love her, don’t you?” Merkimer mused. “This isn’t some sort of stupid honor thing?”   
“Why wouldn’t I love her?” Pendergast asked, as though Merkimer was incredibly stupid.

“Because it was more or less an arranged marriage?” Merkimer tried.   
Pendergast paused. “She chose it. She chose _me_. And she’s… she’s amazing. Gorgeous too, though no one really says it. I suppose it’s obvious? And I love her spirit. When I was a boy, I thought I wanted a meek, demure… well, you know the stories, with the perfect knight and perfect ladies. I’m not a perfect knight, and I don’t want her to be a _lady_. I like her as my hellcat just fine. She’s like the sea, with a storm on the horizon, and I’ve never wanted to drown so much.”

“Sounds like she and Bean would either get along great, or murder each other.” Merkimer mused.   
“Ha, yeah.” Pendergast said. “Well, I suppose I should be getting back to report to Sir Corian that you’re fine.”   
“Oh, that’s old news.” Merkimer huffed. “Let’s talk about you! When can I meet your wife?”   
Pendergast stood. “She’s not… she’s not coming to the capital.” True. She was already there.

“Oh, come _on_. This is the first interesting thing to happen in ages! And for once, it doesn’t involve Princess Murder.” Merkimer nodded towards the castle. “Which is _fascinating_ , because you spent my bachelor party watching her.”   
“She _had_ just broken my nose, I was right to be wary.” Pendergast muttered, fidgeting with his gauntlet. “And don’t call her that.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant. You… you _watch_ her, when you think no one else is watching. Not in a bad way! But to have you come back, and be in _love_ with someone like this, when a week ago I would have said you were in…” Understanding dawned on Merkimer’s face. “…no.”

Pendergast crossed his arms, and glared down at Merkimer. “No, _what_?”   
“Tell me you didn’t marry her.”   
“You need to be more specific.”   
“…you did, didn’t you? With your _technically_ true statements.” Merkimer blinked rapidly. Admittedly, he had found out about Pendergast’s _limitation_ fairly quickly in their not-friendship. Workplace colleagues, at best. “You married… well, you called her a hellcat, and you’re right.”

“I meant it more _fondly_ than that.” Pendergast snapped. “I like that about her.”   
Merkimer sat down, so that he could look up a bit more. “I _know_ you do. I’m not Zog. I have eyes—not a dig at you, of course. But aren’t you worried?”   
“Of course I’m worried.”   
“Not about your stupid ‘can’t have sex with your wife’ thing.”

“Oddly enough, no. I’m more worried about the fact that I wedded my wife without her father’s permission.”   
“That, but… look, you mentioned she’s the sea, yes? The sea is dark, and deep, and full of worrying things. And it can drag you out and under faster than you can swim. It can _kill_ you.”   
“What do you care?” Pendergast asked warily.

Merkimer looked somewhat hurt. “I thought we were friends.”   
“Workplace colleagues.” Pendergast corrected.   
“ _Friends_.” Merkimer insisted. “You came to me about this. And besides, I don’t want you to get hurt.”   
“It’s my job to die for the royal family.” _It’s my job to die for her_. “I’m meant to be disposable.”

Merkimer snorted. “Right, yes, I’m sure. Never mind that you’re the only one of those tin-plated idiots to have any semblance of intelligence. Look, she’s chaos incarnate. What happens to you the next time she goes to Hell—literally—or her insane mother shows up, or she falls off of a cliff, or any number of things? What if she hurts you by hurting herself? What if she doesn’t _care_ what happens to you as long as she finishes her adventure?”

Pendergast looked away and shrugged. “I’m disposable.”   
“That’s not good enough!” Merkimer snapped. “God knows I like her well enough, but… okay, what happens to me if you die?”   
“I’m sure you’d be well taken care of.” Pendergast said. “You have a lot of friends in Bentwood—the Brodericks, for one.”

“That doesn’t fucking _matter_ —wait, did you say the Brodericks? Why did you mention them?” Merkimer asked.   
“Alice Broderick was meant to marry my cousin.”   
“What’s your cousin like?” Merkimer demanded.

“You do realize I have patrols—”   
“Pendergast, she is a _nice_ girl.”   
“They ran off together. They seemed happy enough.” Pendergast shrugged. “Bean knows more about her than I do.”   
Merkimer seemed to consider this. “Are they really happy?”   
“Why do you care?”

“I know you don’t think I have a heart, but I like that family. Alice was a nice girl—too young for me, but Guysbert… Guysbert liked to bring her flowers. Not in a bad way, just… she was kind to him. He wanted to be kind to her. They were friends, as much as Guysbert could _have_ friends. She deserved better than court intrigues, or…” Merkimer shrugged as best he could, being quadrupedal. “A nice girl from a good family. Loyal to the crown, smart, the kind of people I wish we had more of in Bentwood.”

“I almost had to marry the cousin.”   
“Oh, Ermentrude? She’s not so bad if you cover her mouth during the act.” Merkimer said.   
“And _that’s_ my cue to leave.” Pendergast replied.

Pendergast made his way back to the castle, stifling several yawns. He finally entered the throne room, ready to shift into the more administrative part of his day. Of course, this was _foiled_ by the fact that the love of his life was sitting improperly on her throne, legs propped up on the arm of the chair, while she doodled unflattering pictures of the king.

Sunlight streamed into her hair, and once again, he was struck by how beautiful she was. _His wife_.   
She yawned, and he covered his mouth, finally giving in. Stupid contagious yawns.   
“Ey, Gast!” Zog said. “Yer here!”   
“It is my job, yes.” Pendergast agreed, pointedly not looking at Bean, because if he _looked_ , he would want to _touch_ , and he had gotten very good at telling himself touching was a bad idea over the past week or so. It was a lot harder when she was _right there_ —22 steps away, he’d counted the length of the room in steps once, and if he wasn’t in armor he’d be able to get over there and kiss her properly and _no_ — he forced his attention back to the king.

Thankfully, he hadn’t missed anything.   
“You look tired, Gast. Yer new wife keepin’ ya up?” Zog asked, complete with a shit eating grin.   
Pendergast grimaced. “I miss her, yes.” He was too tired and _raw_ for pride. He wanted her. Not even for _base, carnal lusts_ , just… just to make her laugh. To hold her in his arms. Hell, he wanted her advice. “I haven’t slept in a week.”

He was very much aware of her eyes on him. Did she miss him too?   
“Oh geez, Gast. Well, if yer gonna be up anyway, maybe ya can guard Beanie?” Zog said.   
_What_.   
“I don’t need a _bodyguard_ , Dad.” Bean scoffed, but she kept her eyes on Pendergast.   
Pendergast kept silent, not wanting to catch himself in a lie. He could say deliberately cruel things—it wasn’t his job to guard a spoiled, bratty princess among them, the catch being that he didn’t define her as that. Only if questioned.

“Well, ya said Dagmar was in yer room with the music box thingamajig a while back.” Zog shrugged. “Gast’s not gonna touch ya, he keeps tellin’ anyone who’ll listen ‘bout how much he loves his wife, how much he misses her, how soft her hair is… yada yada yada. Worst case scenario, you’ll hafta listen about this wife that he won’t give any specific details on, besides the fact that he loves the colour of her eyes because they look like the sky above, or some shit. S’kinda borin’. Hey, maybe you’ll fin’lly be able to sleep!”

Bean shot him an annoyed look, though her cheeks were lightly dusted with pink. Pendergast, meanwhile had turned red and was staring at the floor. “I… there’s something else I wanted to ask you about, sir.”   
“Yeah, yeah, bring your wife to the capital.” Zog said.   
“Not that. My wife’s not coming to the capital.” Pendergast said. “It’s _dangerous_ here.” Telling two truths that weren’t connected and making them seem like they flowed into each other was a Griffiths family specialty.   
“Ya can’t protect your own wife?” Zog asked, disbelieving.

“My duty is to protect the royal family first.” Pendergast said. “And I almost failed at _that_. You, the princess, and Prince Derek are not alive right now because of me, but because of yourselves. I… my wife is my greatest treasure. She’s not coming to the capital.”   
“So what’d ya wanna ask?” Zog asked.   
Pendergast sighed. “Roughly two weeks ago, I approached the princess with the idea of tutoring her in certain subjects that I believe she’s not particularly proficient in. Specifically, I would like to help her study diplomacy in case she is ever called upon in a context that demands she deal with parties outside of Dreamland.”

“Oof, yer usin’ yer _big words_. How long have you been plannin’ to ask? Stop bein’ so nervous, Gast. It’s not like yer askin’ fer my permission to marry my daughta.”   
Pendergast paled slightly, and forced a smile. “You’re right, I’m not.” It was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. That was one of the first things the princess had taught him.

Zog waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, if yous two can handle bein’ around each other for this stuff… ya can work it out. Way’s I see it, yer keepin’ her outta trouble twice over, and _volunteerin_ ’ for one’a them. Go on, git outta here.”

And with that, Pendergast left. Bean followed after a minute, catching him in an empty hallway.   
“Hey.” She said awkwardly.   
He grinned at her. “Hey.”   
“So, you know all that stuff I said was just to get my dad off our back, right? Like he would have been really suspicious if I—”   
Pendergast cut her off with a gentle kiss. “I know. I love you so much. I _missed_ you so much.”

Bean grinned up at him. “Yeah? I missed you too.”   
Pendergast cupped her face. “I… must admit, the tutoring thing was kind of a plot to see you again.”   
She gently nudged his shoulder. “What, did you think we’d just avoid each other until my dad died, and pine from afar?”   
“It worked for me before we left for Caer Griffiths.” He muttered. 

“What was that?”   
“Nothing!” He said quickly.   
She shot him a long look, before it was broken by a yawn. “Whatever, but that’s not my style. You’re my husband, and you’re here, and I want to make out with you as much as possible.”


	22. I want to know more about the Bozaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have another smutty scene, bringing this up to the smuttiest story I have written so far. Mathematically speaking, of course. 
> 
> If that's not your thing (mathematically speaking or not) skip from, "My princes... what do you want?" to "Sorry, did you not like it?"

“Scenario!” Pendergast slammed a hand onto the desk. Bean jolted awake.   
They were in the library of the Dreamland castle. Specifically, the large library, not Dagmar’s laboratory. Light filtered through dusty windows onto racks and racks of barely organized shelves. On a table spread in front of Bean were multiple papers, some loosely compiled, some bound in leather folders, some were just straight up books.

There was one about Dreamland’s history near the edge, but more of the papers were focusing specifically on cultural knowledge of different countries or forces around Dreamland. True to his word, Pendergast was trying to teach her what he knew about diplomacy. That included these scenarios.

“The kingdom is under siege by the Bozaks. Half our forces are dead, the other half have been captured. Both your father and I are missing in action. What do you do, princess?”   
“I pull everyone we can back to the castle. And… I put up a white flag.”   
Pendergast sat down across from her, watching her. “You’re not going to try and fight them?”   
“There’s no trained fighters left.”

“You’re right. Continue.”   
“I ride out under a flag of parlay.”   
“ _You_ , princess?”   
“Me.” Bean said firmly. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s _not_ , but continue.” Pendergast pulled out a quill and a clean sheaf of paper, slowly making notes. “And where are you meeting them?”   
Bean thought for a minute. “Near the fountain. Kind of neutral, hard to set up approaching forces without us noticing, and I can make a quick escape.”   
Pendergast smiled in spite of himself. “That last one isn’t something I remember teaching you.”

Bean shrugged, grinning at him. “It’s true.”   
Pendergast settled back. “I suppose I’ll now be taking on the role of the Bozak Commander?”   
“Well, I was kind of thinking I’d be me, so yeah.”   
“Very well. Peace and long life to you, princess Tiabeanie.”

She frowned in concentration. Something about that didn’t sound right to her, and it wasn’t the fact that he called her _Princess Tiabeanie_. Oh—right—the Bozaks didn’t like the idea of dying old, it was seen as an insult. …Pendergast would probably fail her if she responded with a traditional Dreamland insult (“fuck you”), and failure meant punishment. “May you die in glory.”   
Pendergast wrote that down. “Why have you called this meeting?”

“Why did you reply?” Bean shot back. “What do you want?”   
“We want revenge for our honored dead.”   
“You slaughtered half of our army.”   
“They weren’t a very good army.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “All you are doing is sending Dreamland men to _Karnivor_.”   
“Ilithen, my love, Karnivor is Bozak hell.” Pendergast muttered.   
“Right, sorry, Ilithen.” Bean said.   
Pendergast wrote that down, and then crossed his arms in front of him. “So what do you suggest? We cannot make them dishonor themselves if they wish to die in battle.”

“You could stop fighting. You already took everything kinda good from Dreamland.”   
He scoffed. “What about your sea access?”   
“You _have_ sea access.”   
“We don’t have boats, anymore.”

“You can have access to our shipyard. But we kinda need people to work it, and that’s not happening if we’re under siege.”   
“And how do we know that you’ll keep your word? You, who tossed it aside so carelessly when we were allies to begin with?”   
Bean thought for a minute. “You can have a hostage.”

“We already have _several_.”   
“Not-not my Dad. Someone else. Just one person, and they’d have to be treated okay. You could leave someone with us, and they could report back. A trade.”   
“And who exactly are you saying we should take?”   
“You choose.”

Pendergast wrote that down. “We choose the crown prince.”   
“Derek’s supposed to rule after my dad. When would he get back?” Bean asked, trying not to sound like she was panicking.   
“Potentially never, unless we had some other form of agreement. Some sort of marriage alliance, perhaps, or unless he was traded for another.”   
“That’s not fair!”   
Pendergast looked at her levelly. “You should have specified.”

Bean curled her hands into fists below the table. “What if I had a kid?”   
Pendergast slowly looked at her. “Meaning?”   
“I was—you were coming to my wedding when you got blown up. Kind of, I guess. It wasn’t my dad’s fault, it was mine. So, what about my firstborn child?”   
Pendergast leaned back. “Okay, so you do realize that the Bozaks aren’t Rumpelstiltskin, yes? They’re not witches? And that they wouldn’t take a child they would believe is a bastard, which requires _explaining_. Also, what about my feelings on the matter?”

“Well, you’re ‘missing in action’.” Bean put up air quotes. “And I’d be getting you back.”   
“I’m not having children with you specifically so that you can use them as collateral.” Pendergast said dryly. “And speaking of Derek, he’s of a rough age to the Bozak princess, and one must assume they have fairly analogous physiology.”   
“So that’s the ‘right’ answer?” Bean huffed, making air quotes.

“It’s _a_ right answer.” Pendergast said. “…though, I’m probably too close to the situation when it comes to you, fy ngwraig. Regardless of my feelings on how it ended, I am glad that you’re reading the material I set you, and that you’re coming along so quickly. You’re good at thinking on your feet, and you’re good at talking to people, finding what makes them tick.”   
She beamed at him. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“B+.” He replied, folding his hands in front of him. “You’re welcome to see my feedback if you want.”  
Her grin grew. “Oh, yeah, I can definitely work with that.”   
In the beginning, he had been frustrated, because his tactic of teaching was to tell her to read something, and to do paperwork in the same room. So she had gotten frustrated right back. And thus several things had come from it; an argument, which led to several days of sulking and silence between them, where he stood outside her door instead of joining her in the bed (which he had done almost immediately the first day that Zog had assigned him to her several weeks ago. It had then led to the _scenarios_ that Pendergast had devised (“no, stop offering them alcohol to break the ice!”) and _that_ had led to the carrot and stick policy. (Pendergast did _not_ like it when she called it that, but that’s what it was in practice.)

What essentially happened was that if she was bad, and let her temper get the best of her, or any other social faux pas, she got punished. The _type_ of punishment differed—sometimes he’d spank her, sometimes he’d edge her, sometimes he would tease her endlessly, and then just give her more reading. The _rewards_ were in a similar vein, but much more straight forward.

“How do you want to collect your reward, princess?” Pendergast purred. “In bed later, or—”   
“Here.” Bean said quickly. “On the desk.”   
He blinked, before smirking. “Oh, and I thought you were half asleep earlier…”

She stood and moved around the table. “I kind of _was_. This is different though.”   
He picked her up easily, and put her on the table. “My princess… what do you want, _exactly_?”   
One of his hands slid under her shirt, the other into her pants. He pressed up against her, and she wrapped her legs around him.   
“I haven’t heard a _response_.” He nipped at her neck, his fingers pumping in and out of her, his thumb stroking her clit. His other hand pinched at her breast under the strophium.

Her hand tangled in his hair. “Nngh, you always do the same—whoa!”   
He suddenly flipped her onto her stomach on the table, one hand moving to take a fistful of her hair, the other slowly running up her slit.   
“I thought I wasn’t getting _punished_.” She panted.   
“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no!” She gasped out as he slid a finger back in. “Keep going!”   
She wriggled her hips as he took the finger out, and tasted it. “Mm… so wet for me, _princess_.”   
“ _Pen_ … please…”   
He pulled her head up, making her gasp. “Begging already?”   
“ _Please_.” She wriggled her hips again.

And then he was inside her, filling her up with _heat_. She moaned, almost involuntarily as he pushed deeper into her. He moved his hand from her clit to her hip, pulling her ever closer, while his other hand tightened in her hair.   
“Am I still _predictable_ , princess?” He nipped at her shoulder, growling at the clothes in the way.   
“Agh, no…”

“Princess, I don’t think you’re being properly _respectful_.”   
“N-no _sir_ …” She stuttered out, closing her eyes to savor the feeling.   
He jerked her head up. “Good girl.” He bit her ear gently, then sucked on a spot on her neck. “So tight and wet and _hot_ for me.”   
“You’re-you’re going to mark me, Pen…”   
“Good. Because you’re _my wife_. _Fy un i. Fy ngwraig.”_ He muttered into the crook of her neck, pumping faster and faster into her.   
“ _Pen_ …” She gasped. “Pen, my knight, my _good_ knight, please, Pendergast, _please_ …”   
He pressed a kiss under her jaw, and flipped her again, before re-inserting himself. He gently traced her jaw with his left hand, while she panted and looked up at him with her big blue eyes.

“Rwy’n dy garu di.” He said softly, before thrusting hard.   
She gasped, and her nails tried to scratch at him and gain purchase.   
He chuckled, low in his throat, before grabbing her wrists in one hand and pinning them down. She arched up against him.   
“If you were naked, I’d mark every inch of your creamy, beautiful skin.” Pendergast purred.

“Pen, I’m going to—!” He covered her mouth as her eyes fluttered, and he _pushed_ and pushed into her.   
“Sh sh sh, Princess. It wouldn’t be good if anyone were to catch me inside you, your breeches pooled around your ankles, and your legs wrapped around my waist.”   
“Why can’t I mark you back?” She whined, muffled by his hand.   
He squeezed the hand holding her wrists, and she gasped underneath him. He watched her chest heave, before picking up the pace again.

“Because I am a married man, and as far as everyone else knows, my wife isn’t currently in the capital, being _fucked_ within an inch of her life.”   
Her eyes fluttered again. “ _Pen_ …” It would have been a scream if he hadn’t been covering her mouth. He leaned down. “I like it when you scream for me, princess…”   
“ _Pen_ , Pen, Pen…!”   
“I like it when you scream my name…” He moved his hand, and gently bit her lower lip.

She arched against him again as he started one final, desperate series of thrusts. Faster and faster and faster until he _spilled_ and she gasped and tightened around him. “ _Pendergast_ …!” She moaned, and he covered her mouth with his, before finally pulling away from her entirely and redoing his breeches.   
She sat up slowly, grinning lazily at him. “You got _possessive_ …”   
“Sorry, did you not like it?”

Bean redid her own breeches. “I loved it.”   
“You… may need to wear your hair down for the next few days.” Pendergast grinned slightly.   
Her grin widened. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I should make you possessive again, though.”   
He pulled her to him again, this time to place a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “That’s not very conducive to keeping this a secret.”

“I told you before, I’m not going to stop fucking you just because you want this to be a _secret_.” She made a face at him. “I’m your wife, but you’re _mine_ , Pen. And I will let you do whatever you want to me, but you can’t change that you’re mine.”   
“I wouldn’t want to. Did-did you want it?” He asked hesitantly.   
“Of course I wanted it, I _begged_ for it.” She kicked him gently. “You know I want you.”

A much gentler hand than earlier combed through her hair. “And you know I am yours, however you want me. Your lover, your husband, your soldier, your slave.”   
“My Pen.” She muttered into his chest. “That’s what you are.”   
“That’s vague, fy ngalon. May I have a more specific job description?” He teased.

She pulled back and looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Well, you can get down on your knees…”   
He knelt in front of her. “After the fucking you just had? You’re getting greedy.”   
“I’m the princess, I can get greedy if I want.”   
He ran his hand over her thigh. “Yes, you definitely can.”

Bean looked down at him. “You like it when I’m in charge, don’t you?”   
His breath hitched. “Yes, princess.”   
She grinned. “I like it too—”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off, because someone slammed the library door open. “Pendergast, are you in here?” Odval called.   
Pendergast got to his feet and jumped away from Bean in one fluid movement. She pouted and swung her legs back and forth.   
“O-over here.” Pendergast tried to fight the rising blush over the fact that Odval had nearly caught them.

Odval glided over, looking them both over. “How’d your lesson go?”   
“Pretty well.” Pendergast said, keeping his eye on Odval.   
Odval picked up Pendergast’s notes, and read them quickly. “…Princess Tiabeanie, did you really offer your firstborn child as a hostage?”   
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Bean huffed.

Odval rolled his eyes—his hat moved a bit, so Bean kind of assumed he rolled all of them. “Of course… well, Pendergast, there’s a council meeting.”   
“About what?” Pendergast asked.   
“Well, since you’re the only member of the council currently married…” Odval mumbled the rest.   
“Sorry?” Pendergast asked.

Odval mumbled again.   
“Can you repeat that?”   
Another mumbling.   
Pendergast _definitely_ hadn’t heard what Odval said, but he couldn’t just _ask_ again. He nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“I’m coming too.” Bean hopped off of the table.   
Odval glared at her. “I thought we had made it clear to you; no women talking in the council room.”   
“I thought I made it clear to _you_ that I have more fingers than you have eyes, and I’ll poke you in them.” Bean snapped.   
“Between Pendergast and I, there are four eyes. Do you intend to stab them all out with your claws?” Odval asked.

“Nah, Pen’s not being a dickhead like you. Right, Pen?”   
“I… the princess has been getting a lot better in terms of diplomacy. Maybe it would be best if she were to sit in on one of these meetings? To teach her more about politics?” Pendergsat coughed, looking anywhere but at Odval and Bean.   
“Pendergast?” Odval snapped.

“Sir?”   
“Summon your wife to the capital. You can’t just walk around being the princess’ dog, have some fucking self-respect. Get a hold of yourself, and a _proper_ woman is the best way to do that.”

“You’re just being a massive asshole because you know you’ve lost!” Bean snapped.   
Odval glared at her, before turning to Pendergast. “…Perhaps you’re right, and she should be there for this. Either she’ll reveal herself to be the frothing lunatic we all know her to be, or she’ll actually have some insight into the situation. After all, we don’t want another Guysbert.”

“What?!” Bean demanded.   
Odval shrugged. “I’ve explained it enough, Tiabeanie. It’s not my fault that your screaming has damaged your hearing.”   
He turned to leave, and Pendergast gave a tiny, “Oh, fuck.”   
Bean glared at him, and Pendergast put up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know what’s happening either.”

Odval, without turning, snapped his fingers twice. “I will not come collect you both if you stray to _chitchat_. Pendergast, walk with me. You’re getting far too close to her.”   
“I thought that’s what you wanted?” Bean huffed as the three of them moved forward.   
“I wanted _him_ to rub off on _you_. Alas, it’s like soap on a sword; the sword doesn’t truly get _cleaner_ , just covered in a waxy veneer, and the soap has deep gouges in it.” That was the last Odval had to say before they reached the council room.

Zog and Sorcerio were already there.   
“Ey, Gast, ya made it! Hey, Beanie. What’re you doin’ here?” Zog asked.   
“Maybe it’s best if she gives us some insight.” Sorcerio said.   
“ _Thank you_ , Sorcerio.” Bean said. Pendergast pulled out a seat for her— _his_ seat—and hovered awkwardly behind her.

Odval sighed and sat down. “Now, to discuss the matter of Princess Tiabeanie getting married once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fy un i -- mine   
> Rwy'n dy garu di -- I love you   
> Fy ngalon -- my heart


	23. Lynette's really leaning into this 'daughter' thing

It is worth discussing at this point that Bean had very much gone through most of the birth control that Lynette had given her, mostly using the more non-invasive options when possible. She had written back and forth with Lynette, who had sent more wild carrot seed and pennyroyal, as well as a kind letter.

Bean had left the letter on her desk, along with the package, roughly a week before the incidents described in the last chapter.   
And someone had taken it.

The someone cannot be named, as they had long since forgotten their own name. They were a creature that was once an elf, if it could be called that. (They had gleaned this information from their siblings, who had told them all that the creature called Elfo was an elf, and they seemed similar, perhaps they were once elves? All of them? But then again, Elfo was not like them, and then Elfo was not an elf. Perhaps they were, perhaps they weren’t.)

The creature could also be called a _reanimated corpse_ —that’s what the White Queen called them, lips stained blood-red with wine. According to snippets of information, they’d been dead. Long dead, though they didn’t know how. There might have been a war, they supposed, or a plague. Perhaps some elves (were they even elves?) had survived. But they would survive again, since the White Queen had brought them back years and years ago, before she had disappeared.

And they had waited for her to return.   
And they had watched the White Princess.   
And now the White Queen was back.   
And in the course of their watching, they had taken the letter from the White Princess’ room for her to read.

‘ _Annwyl Bean,_

_Thank you for your previous letter! I hope your Welsh is coming along well, as well as the diplomacy lessons my son is giving you.  
Attached, per your request, are refills of wild carrot seed and pennyroyal. I do hope that I will have grandchildren some day, but don’t worry—I’d prefer for you to wait until you’re ready, as I’ve said before. I don’t want any of my children to feel pressured; not you, and not Penny. _

_Spring is coming here, and it’s gorgeous. The rains fall a bit more frequently, but my garden is beginning to grow, strong and green. I try to get gardening done in the bits of the day with the sun shining—Blodeuwedd’s very helpful for that._

_Though she’s been fairly cagey about it, I believe she’s had a letter from David and Alice recently. The envelope was marked for Twinkletown, I must assume they’re doing well. Have you heard from them? Alice was a sweet girl, and I’ve set aside part of the garden for her return (hopefully she won’t miss the planting season!). Sorry if these are fairly trite, country matters. I know things here aren’t as fast-paced and lively as the capital, but they’re real to us all the same._

_Rhoswen said to tell you (and Penny, of course) are welcome here whenever. I think she’d like a bit of a visit, she’s getting fairly lonely in her old age. Blodeuwedd said she’s been kinder about her being a bit un-ladylike, though I’m not sure exactly what the catalyst was. Perhaps she’s just getting old._

_I look forward to your next letter, my darling daughter!  
Much love,   
Lynette’ _

The White Queen had screamed in anger when she read the looping, spidery words. They had all scattered back to the shadows when they heard it, for her anger was swift and terrible and _hurt, oh it hurt_. One of their siblings hadn’t been quick enough and she had kicked out at them, sending them flying against the wall. Oh, oh the pain!

“This backwoods bitch is trying to say she’s _my_ daughter’s mother!” The White Queen snarled. “Idiot! Just because she talks about _gardens_ and _old women_ doesn’t mean she knows anything about Bean! Bean is _my_ daughter—and she’s just…!”   
If the White Queen could breathe fire, they and all of their siblings would have been immolated.

They all held their breath.   
“How _dare_ she!” The White Queen snapped. “How dare she try and fucking _insert_ herself! And sending her these-these…” The White Queen stilled, re-reading the letter.   
The silence after the anger was almost just as dangerous. Over by the wall, their sibling didn’t move. Were they dead again? Were they waiting out the anger? The one that had taken the letter almost wished they were dead.

Death meant peace, just for a bit, before the White Queen brought you back. That’s why she was the Queen—she was white, like bone; both the human bones that surrounded them (had they been bones?) and broken bone poking through skin. White like crooked teeth, white like pain and lies and light and other scary things. The one who stole the letter jolted themselves out of it—she must be watched.

If she caught you, and you weren’t watching, she could sneak up behind you and kill you again and again and again in seconds, just pain and pain and pain over and over.   
“Go get that parcel, and bring it to me.” She finally ordered. A sibling went running in the shadows. They soon returned with the parcel, which smelled of mint and Outside and horse from travel and a bit of the White Princess’ room.

The White Queen opened it, scoffed, reread the letter, and scoffed again. She dumped the contents out, and another sibling was soon dispatched to get harmless replacements, and bring the new parcel up to the White Princess’ room.   
“It seems I’m going to be a grandmother.” The White Queen announced, as she sat in her throne they’d fashioned for her (out of skeletons and bones and other white things, just in the one bit of sunlight that filtered through the stones and the houses and the Outside, so she’d always be wreathed in _white_ ).

The siblings all chattered happily, because that’s what the Queen seemed to want. What was a grandparent to one who had never known parents? The White Princess couldn’t be better than the White Queen, clearly the cycle would just keep going and going and going and they’d be stuck down there forever with the pain and the white. If they believed in a god, they’d be crying out to it. But they had their facades of happiness for her, since she was doing the baring-teeth-almost-smile. She wanted them to be happy.

“She can’t exactly fail me now.” The White Queen continued to herself. “And who knows? A baby can be leverage, or a replacement… maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she’s just another link in the chain, _breeding stock_. And besides, it’s this parcel from the _other_ mother she’s taken that’s betrayed her.” She laughed, and they laughed along too. They were just puppets for her, after all.   
The Letter-Stealer (was that a name? It would be gone soon too, after other tasks) saw that the sibling who had been kicked into the wall was still not moving at all.

And they were glad. Sleep, sleep, have your peace. She’ll find you soon, and drag you back, but sleep now. Have your peace. Sleep, sleep.   
And down there in the dust and the bones and the one bit of sunlight, things remained under the White Queen’s control. There was no way out, not for any of them. Not for the White Princess. Not for the Shining Knight. They could all die, and die, and die again. What was there worth in a world of pain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annwyl means dear, but that might have been understood from context


	24. Oh right, the main plot. The plot of Bean and Pen. The plot specifically written for Bean and Pen. Bean and Pen's plot. That plot?

Pendergast and Bean stared at Odval.  
“I’m… sorry, did you just say the princess is getting married? To who?” Pendergast asked.  
Odval looked pleased. “I’m so glad that you asked. Since you’re standing, can you come over here and hold up this portrait for me?”

Pendergast could very much hold up a portrait. It was massive, and more or less covered half of his body.  
Bean, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair. The man in the portrait was old, and scowling, with gray, thinning hair. Most of the hair he did have left was concentrated near the front, making it look as though there was a tuft of very gray grass growing out of his head. His face was lined with years of anger.

“Oh, wow… that’s… awful.” Bean said.  
Sorcerio rubbed his chin. “How old is this man? He looks…”  
“Ancient.” Zog interrupted. “I don’t wanna son-in-law older than anyone in here.”  
Pendergast moved his head around the edge of the frame. “Um, sir?”  
“Shuddup, Gast, we’re lookin’ at the angry coot.” Zog huffed.

Pendergast moved back to his previous position.  
“Yes, I know that King Trevor _looks_ … not the best, but looks are not everything.” Odval said. “As it stands, he is the only royal within diplomatic distance who is single, of age, and most importantly, willing to even _consider_ the idea of marrying her after the _Bentwood Incident_.”  
“Is _that_ what we’re calling it now?” Sorcerio chuckled.

“Why’s he so interested in Bean? Does he wanna die?” Zog asked suspiciously.  
“Dad!” Bean hissed. “Not cool!”  
“Eh, you’re sitting in Gast’s chair, but that doesn’t make ya have good insight.” Zog replied.  
Odval folded his hands behind his back. “Well… I believe he thinks he can… tame her.”  
“Tame me?” Bean repeated.

“Wait, isn’t this the one whose wives _mysteriously_ keep disappearing?” Pendergast asked Odval.  
“No, don’t be absurd. King Trevor has actively executed his previous three wives. It’s all very lawful, he’s not some sort of _criminal._ The first for infidelity, the second for infertility, and the third for complaining too much about the fact that his previous wives’ heads were nailed up as trophies. He is in _desperate_ need of an heir.”  
“I can’t imagine why.” Sorcerio muttered.

“Eh… it sounds like he’d kill Beanie.” Zog said uncertainly.  
“I have it on good authority that he _promises_ not to kill the next wife. However…” Odval pulled a bit of paper out of his pocket. “He would of course exert husbandly authority, and may try to ‘break in the next wife, so as to finally not have a nagging bitch and to actually get a son’.”  
Bean paled. “No. No no no, and you can’t make me. I’ll _never_ get married if this is the option!”

“It wouldn’t come to that. _Right_ , Odval?” Pendergast asked, barely pulling back a growl. He had to keep level, keep their respect, or he’d be thrown out and then he couldn’t protect her… right?  
“Any other options?” Zog asked.

“I could just _not_ get married.” Bean hissed.  
“And what would that look like, a kingdom with an unmarried princess?” Odval hissed, slamming his hands down on the desk. Pendergast took the opportunity to put the portrait back down and return to standing behind Bean, one hand on her shoulder.  
“It would look better than our only option being _that_.” Pendergast remarked drily, giving Bean’s shoulder a soft squeeze.

“What about a vassal marriage?” Sorcerio asked.  
Pendergast stood up a little straighter.  
“What about it?” Zog asked.  
“Well, if she has to get married, why not a vassal? Surely there are single, adult men of note in Dreamland. And we might be able to actually control the outcome, or entice people to ask for her hand.” Sorcerio shrugged.

“What’s a vassal marriage?” Bean whispered to Pendergast.  
“It’s where you marry a man from a noble family of Dreamland.”  
“Like you?”  
“Like me.”

“I’ll do it.” Bean said a bit louder.  
“Alright, then which one?” Odval asked.  
Bean looked at Pendergast, who was schooling his features into an emotionless mask. She fucking _hated_ when he did that. “Uh… what about Pendergast?”  
“Sir Pendergast is already married. That would be bigamy.” Odval snorted.

Pendergast squeezed her shoulder a bit tighter—this time, more of a warning.  
“The major families will be in an uproar if overtures are made to one but not the others.” Pendergast finally said. “You need to get them all together.”  
“Like a ball, and she picks one? …She’d probably pick a fucking lunatic.” Zog snorted.

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “She literally just picked me.”  
“Yes, so she could cause trouble.” Odval huffed. “But… potentially, there could be some kind of… test, or tourney or the like. Pendergast can work out the details of whatever athletic feats are required.”  
Pendergast removed his hand from Bean’s shoulder to cross his arms. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

“Oh, could I join so I can represent the Grunkwitz family, and not get married?” Bean asked.  
“No.” Odval snapped.  
“What about a mental component? I feel like we should be able to boot people from the competition if they’re…” Sorcerio waved his hand vaguely.

“Insane?” Odval asked.  
“Murderous?” Pendergast supplied.  
“A goddamn idiot?” Zog tried.  
“A fucking asshole.” Bean nodded.

“Well, yes, you’re all right. And you’d all have veto power. No, not you, princess. If left to your own devices, you’ll get rid of everyone. But, we could also make a thing of it; like a sort of festival, or fair.” Sorcerio finished. “Help the economy a bit as well, a bit of entertainment for the masses, that sort of thing.”  
“Replenish the royal coffers after the fact that we have nothing.” Odval said appreciatively. “The expense of the Bentwood wedding covered at least… and of course, there could be a small… entrance fee.”

“You’re tellin’ me people’d pay money t’marry _Bean_?” Zog asked, aghast.  
“I think they would.” Pendergast said.  
Bean twisted in her chair and smiled at him. “Thanks, Pen.”  
“Don’t give him nicknames, horrid girl. I know you desperately want to cause trouble with his marriage, but not on my watch.” Odval hissed.  
Bean glared at him. “Hey, Odval? Fuck you.”

“I thought the princess was here to give her own insight?” Pendergast said, trying to keep his voice level. “…we could have all the suitors fight to the death.”  
“No—and I can tell you’re running out of ideas, you’re getting violent.” Odval huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clearly, _she_ is a distraction.”  
“It was my first thought!” Pendergast said defensively.

“Go and think about this somewhere else.” Odval ordered. “Take _her_ with you. I hope this has proven to all of you that she _cannot_ be professional.”  
“Atalanta!” Pendergast finally blurted out.  
“What?” Odval asked.  
“Is that yer wife? Sounds foreign.” Zog commented.

“I think he means the myth of Atalanta.” Sorcerio said, continuing at Pendergast’s nod. “Atalanta was an ancient Greek princess. When it came time for her to marry, she refused to wed any man that couldn’t beat her in a footrace. The losers would be put to death.”  
“See!” Pendergast interrupted.  
“We’re not killing people over this.” Odval said. “It’d cause a massive uproar.”

“No one seems to mind that King Trent’s killing his wives.” Bean huffed.  
“Trevor.” Odval corrected.  
“I like the ‘dea of bringin’ Bean in on this. Ya sure she can outrun people though?”  
“She’s outrun me, out of armor.” Pendergast pointed out.

“When was that?” Sorcerio asked. “And why?”  
“Caer Griffiths. I… said something she didn’t want to hear.” Pendergast shifted uncertainly. “I’ll take my punishment—”  
“No. I was wrong.” Bean interrupted.  
Odval, Sorcerio, and Zog all stared at her.

“You all heard that too, right? She admitted she was wrong?” Odval looked around to see Sorcerio and Zog’s reactions.  
“Geez, what’d ya do to the guy?” Zog asked. “I mean, he’s still standin’, but…?”  
“You guys are _such_ dicks.” Bean huffed. “Come on, Pen!”  
“Hey, I didn’t dismiss ya!” Zog yelled as Bean dragged Pendergast out of the room, who was doing his best to look apologetic and hide his grin.  
“Dear God, she’ll stop at _nothing_ to ruin his marriage.” Odval gasped. “We need to save that poor boy.”

Back in Bean’s room, reality had more or less sunk in, and Bean was curled up in Pendergast’s arms on the bed.  
“I won’t let them take you from me.” Pendergast huffed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not now, not ever.”  
“Ha, like I’ll let them take _you_ from _me_.” She grasped at him though, like he’d melt away if she didn’t hold on hard enough.

“Well, you’ll just need to be able to run. And I know you can do that.” Pendergast grinned at her, and kissed her. “Fy ngwraig.”  
She laughed. “Fy… ngwn?”  
“Fy ngwr.” He corrected softly.  
“Fy ngwr.” She repeated, tackling him into another deep kiss.

Neither noticed the eyes in the shadows., Few noticed Luci when he didn’t want to be noticed, and fewer still noticed the not-elves. Luci, for his part, narrowed his eyes and left Bean and Pendergast to their own devices. The not-elf soon did as well.

Absolutely no one noticed that Spermatozoa #345762 had encountered Ovum #94, and fertilized it. Not Bean, who was currently straddling Pendergast (even if they were both clothed), nor her husband, smiling up at her, or anyone else who might be watching. Ah well. They’d find out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fy ngwraig; (y'all know this one, it's my wife)  
> Fy ngwn; my gun (no idea what this means in a country that doesn't know what guns are but here we are)  
> Fy ngwr; my husband


	25. Kind of rude of Pen to kick them out after bringing them in

“Why are you mad, again? Aren’t you the one who said they were…?” Elfo gestured vaguely, watching Luci pace the bar. _Luci’s Inferno_ was for once, closed, and empty but for the two of them.   
“I’m not mad about _them fucking_!” Luci snapped. “I don’t care about that! I’m mad that they’re in love!”   
“Wow, is that what I sounded like?” Elfo muttered.

“Hey! Don’t compare us! I’m mad that our friend _lied_ to us, and has been lying to us for a while! Being _good_ and shit. You were mad that Bean had better things to do than put up with your fantasies!”   
“Hurtful **.** ” Elfo said. “And I mean, I was worried about this too, remember?”   
“Yeah, but that was when it was stupid and hilarious.” Luci whined. “Now we’re going to lose our friend to _Pendergast_ of all people!”   
“I mean, we don’t have to lose her.”   
“Yes! We could kill him, and then everything will go back to normal. Thank you, Elfo!” Luci tried to hop off of the bar, but Elfo caught him by the tail. “Not what I meant, and you know it. You’re-you’re _spiraling_ Luci. Let me help you.”

“Why? So you can abandon me too?” Luci growled.   
Elfo pulled him into a hug. “So we can get through this together.”   
Luci slowly laid his head on Elfo’s shoulder. “When did you get all smart and shit?”   
“I’ve been talking to Derek a lot. He’s really good for self-actualization; it’s amazing what you realize about yourself when you’re locked in a tower alone for months on end.” Elfo said blithely.

“That’s _great_. Why shouldn’t I just kill Pendergast so things can go back to normal?” Luci snarked.   
Elfo slowly began to rub Luci’s back.   
“Are you petting me?”   
“Maybe. Do you want me to stop?”   
“I didn’t say that! …answer my fucking question.”

“Because things can never just go _back_. Things are always evolving, and changing, and that’s _good_. What matters is that we’re along for the ride, and if she loves him like you said, she won’t be happy if you hurt him.”   
“Stupid Pendergast…” Luci muttered into Elfo’s shoulder. “Ruined everything…”   
“Luci, what’s really ruined by this?”

“Bean’s not gonna wanna hang out with us anymore, she’s going to be too _good_ for us, and she’s going to have kids and all that other heteronormative shit. She only liked us because she had no one else.”   
“We could always ask her.”   
“Are you crazy? Be _emotionally vulnerable_? Ew—that’s totally against my reputation and aesthetic. …but it’s not against yours.” Luci suddenly leaned back. “ _You_ can say _you_ are upset about all this Pendergast stuff, blah blah blah, the lies, the fact that she doesn’t trust us, and _I_ can look cool and aloof about it. And then, when that doesn’t work, I can murder Pendergast and fix everything.”

“Or, no murder.” Elfo recommended. “And isn’t that just another lie? Isn’t that what you’re mad at her about?”   
Luci crossed his paws, annoyed. “No! It’s different! I’m cool and unknowable, she’s just a bad friend!”   
“Okay…” Elfo said slowly. “When’s the last time we talked to Bean about _real stuff_ , though? Maybe there’s a reason, since it doesn’t seem like she told anyone else.”   
“Stop being _reasonable_.” Luci harrumphed, burrowing deeper into Elfo’s arms.

The next day, they approached the castle from their flat in the elf alley. Bean was in the stables, and Pendergast was in the training yard, so it was the perfect time to approach her.   
Luci leapt out of Ribbons’ stall at her. “Why didn’t you tell us you got married?!”   
“Agh—Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that!” Bean hissed. “Also, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you really think demons only speak English?” Luci scoffed. “I came by to check on you last night—you and _eich gwr_.”   
Bean paled. “You’ve been _spying_ on me?! What the hell, Luci!”   
“No, what the hell, _Bean_! I thought we were friends! Tell her, Elfo!”   
“Luci and I cuddled last night.” Elfo said, approaching Bean from the side.

Luci gave a scream of frustration. “Don’t tell her _that_!”   
“Oh, right. While we were cuddling—”   
“No!”   
“Luci said he was worried you’d forget about us now that you’ve got Pendergast.” Elfo continued. “And that he’s upset that you didn’t trust us.”

Bean’s face softened slightly, but she still crossed her arms. “He could have just _said_ that.”   
“I’m _unknowable_.” Luci growled.   
“Sure you are, buddy.” Elfo replied condescendingly.   
Bean shifted her feet slightly. “Look, it’s… it’s not that I didn’t trust you guys. Pen wasn’t going to tell anyone about being married either, you kind of just… guessed. And it’s dangerous, not just for him, but for his mom and his sister and his grandmother too, ‘cause if my dad finds out… so yeah. Not about you.”

“This is not a very nice apology.” Elfo pointed out.   
Luci perked up slightly. “So, those ‘good people’ lessons that Pendergast is giving you aren’t working, huh?”   
“They’re not ‘good people’ lessons.” Bean huffed. “They’re _diplomacy_ lessons. And he said I was getting better.”   
“He’d say anything, ‘cause you let him _fuck_ you.” Luci spat. “Don’t you know anything about guys?”

“Why can’t I just be _good_ at something?!” Bean shot back.   
“Because _none_ of us are good at stuff! We’re a bunch of fuck ups together! That’s what makes us great—why would you ever want to change that?!”   
“Maybe I don’t want to be a fuck up anymore! Maybe I want people to _actually_ care about me!”   
“Whoa, hold on—” Elfo said.

“Fine, you want a bunch of _losers_ who will drop you once you’re no longer useful? Have ‘em! Keep your stupid bullshit dreams, just don’t come crying to us when they blow up in your face!” Luci growled.   
“No, wait, stop!” Elfo called as Luci scampered away.   
Elfo looked at Bean apologetically, before running after Luci, leaving Bean alone with Ribbons. At least there was no one around to see her cry with frustration over everything.

Luci, meanwhile, ran smack dab into Pendergast, who hauled him up by the scruff of his neck.   
“Fuck you!” Luci spat at him.   
Pendergast blinked. “What have I done now?”   
“You took away my best friend, you fucker! You and your _wife_ deserve each other!”   
“…Thank you? For the last one, at least?” Pendergast put away his training sword. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“Why shouldn’t I scream the truth, right now? To the whole yard?” Luci hissed. “Put me down!”   
“No, you’re very angry right now, and I don’t want you to bite me.” Pendergast said calmly. “As for your other question, because they won’t believe you. Here, come with me.”   
He calmly walked towards the barracks, holding a struggling Luci at arms’ length. Elfo followed.

“Now, why are you spitting fire at me _now_?” Pendergast asked, setting Luci down on a modest table.   
“Because I lost my best friend because of you!” Luci screamed.   
“Is she hurt?” Pendergast asked seriously.

“No! She’s all… _good_ , and _functional_ and shit.” Luci hissed.   
That was when Elfo burst in. “Let him go!”   
Pendergast hooked a hand under Elfo’s armpits, and plopped him down on the table next to Luci. “Maybe _you_ can tell me what’s going on.”

“I already did!” Luci said.   
Pendergast crossed his arms. “Look, there is no one in the world that I love more than my wife. But she’s far from perfect. Besides, that strain of chaos in her? It’s still there. I’m just teaching her how to not piss people off.”   
“Don’t you get it! She doesn’t _need_ us anymore!” Luci howled. Elfo patted his back gently.

“She’s not—she’s doing better, and that means no need for a demon whispering in her ear.” Luci snuffled into Elfo’s shoulder. “It means… if she’s better, then she has options. Like you. She can replace us.”   
“And who am I meant to be replacing in this scenario?” Pendergast asked drily.   
“Shut up, not like that! You know what I mean!”   
“I know that you can get better together. Stop being a demon, start being a friend.” Pendergast said. “…wait, are you actually a demon?”

“Yes.” Elfo said.  
“I _was_.” Luci said at the same time.   
Pendergast paused. “I’m… I’m sorry, you _were_?”   
“You heard me. You’re blind, not deaf.”   
“Half blind.” Pendergast corrected. “…whatever, she’s still been herself since you showed up. Maybe she’s been making you better all along.”   
“No!” Luci snapped. “I was making her worse!”

“Not really?” Elfo said.   
“I was a _good_ demon, wasn’t I?” Luci’s angry tone broke, and finally the yearning—for confirmation, for normalcy, for his friends, for stability—broke though.   
“The best.” Elfo said. “You were very evil. But… you’re not a demon anymore. Maybe it’s time to just be Luci. And maybe just being Luci is better than Luci the demon, you know?”

“Maybe.” Luci said mulishly.   
“While I’m glad you two worked this out, I have things to set up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the princess is getting married.”   
“…again?” Elfo asked.   
Pendergast held up his left hand. “Well, not everyone knows what we know. To some of them, she’s unmarried, and thus… well, thus the kingdom might be _disgraced_.” He rolled his eye, and crossed his arms for emphasis.

“Fuck.” Luci commented, which eloquently summed up the situation.   
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make for the princess’ suitors. Proper ones, not the ones I want to make. If you want to discuss my marriage more, Merkimer is aware of the details.”   
“ _Merkimer_ knows?!” Elfo protested.   
“Merkimer _guessed_. It’s not my fault that the princess and I have been back from Caer Griffiths for more than a month, and he was the only one who noticed.”   
“Hey! I noticed first!” Luci huffed.

“ _You_ nearly ruined everything.” Pendergast pointed out, before opening the door to his room pointedly. “Out. Both of you.”   
They left.   
  



	26. Pendergast has a lot of feelings okay

Almost a week later, Elfo and Luci found Bean and Pendergast in the knight’s training yard.   
Pendergast had a massive chalkboard that was covered in various remarks—‘MEN TWO MINUTES FASTER ON AVERAGE!’ stood out, for example, and groupings that he was apparently placing names from the list of suitors into.

Bean, meanwhile, was leaning against the wall, drinking something from a stone jar. She stopped, and wiped her mouth open seeing them. “What do you guys want?”   
Pendergast looked up. “Oh, hello.”   
“No! No hellos!” Bean hissed.

Pendergast blinked at her, then turned back to the lists, almost dazedly.   
“What’s Knight Craptain over here doing?” Luci asked, ignoring Bean and scampering up onto Pendergast’s shoulder.   
“Threat assessment.” Pendergast said. “You’ve got your intentionally slow runners, your competitive fuckers, your throne chasers, your generally athletic idiots, your idle rich, and your showboats.”   
“Okay, so what are you going to do about it?” Elfo asked.

“Win.” Bean said, at the same time Pendergast deadpanned, “Kill them.”   
Bean frowned at Pendergast, and he shrugged. “Jokes aren’t lies. …and… I would kill someone. If you asked.”   
“Aw, that’s kind of sweet. Don’t do it though.” Bean said.   
Pendergast shrugged, and turned back to his groupings, before looking back at her. “Ready for the jog?” He said to her.   
She handed the jug to him, and he put it down next to an hourglass.

“What’s happening?” Elfo asked.   
Pendergast flipped the hourglass. “The athletic idiots and competitive fuckers are _threats_.”   
“He means we’re doing running training so I can kick everyone’s asses.” Bean explained. “Also, hey, I’m still mad at you two! Pen, stop being nice to them!”   
“You should be jogging.” Pendergast said. “Also, you two, fuck off. I’m busy trying to decide how big of a threat men I’ve never met are to my marriage.”

“And what are you going to do if they are?” Luci asked, tail swishing with interest.   
Bean huffed, and stopped the hourglass. “They’re not.”   
“Legally, she can’t get married twice.” Pendergast said. “So we would be able to tell the Arch-Druidess and stop the wedding… wouldn’t end well, though.”   
Bean crossed her arms. “So, why haven’t you two ratted me out to my dad yet?”

Luci paused. “Well, this is as much trouble as you can get into with your _husband_ over here.”   
“ _And_?” Elfo said.   
“Oh, yeah, Elfo wanted to apologize.”   
“No, no I didn’t. _You_ want to apologize, but it’s not a real apology if you push it off onto me!” Elfo exploded. “You two are always _using_ me to talk to each other, because you can’t just acknowledge how you feel! It’s _okay_ to feel!”   
Pendergast pulled his chalkboard away. “I… shouldn’t be here for this.”   
“No, you shouldn’t.” Luci snapped.   
“Luci, stop it!” Elfo said. “Like it or not, he’s a part of this now! I am so _sick_ of you guys doing this! We have to work together and _not just wing it, and be assholes_!”   
Pendergast, still looking at his chalkboard, knelt and ruffled Elfo’s hat. “Thank you, elf.”   
“You know what, Elfo? You’re right. Bean should say sorry.” Luci said.

“No!” Elfo squawked. “That’s not it _at all_!”   
“I agree. Piss off, Luci!” Bean huffed.   
Pendergast straightened, then turned to Bean. He grabbed Luci off of his shoulder, and dropped him in her arms. “You two need to go talk. Elf, you can stay here and help me with sorting people.”   
“What! Why the hell are you taking _his_ side?!” Bean demanded.

Pendergast watched her coolly. “Because this needs to get sorted—”   
“I’m going to kick all their asses anyway!”   
“ _Still_ , I want to keep an eye on threats. Since I’ve only got the one, that means I can’t referee this spat, and the elf already said he doesn’t want to. Please argue elsewhere.”   
“Pen!” Bean hissed. “You’re supposed to back me up!”

“And you’re supposed to be running, and yet, here we are.” Pendergast crossed his arms. “Besides, the cat won’t want to appear vulnerable, and making the audience larger won’t help. You two can either discuss this over there, or the elf and I can move if that makes you more comfortable.”   
Bean scowled at him. “We’ll be over there.”

Pendergast nodded once, and turned back to his chalkboard.   
“Why’d you do that?” Elfo asked.   
“Do what?”   
“Make her mad? Take Luci’s side?”

Pendergast glanced at Elfo over his shoulder. “Did you really think she was happy leaving this unresolved? This… there shouldn’t be _sides_. And she’s stressed enough right now.”   
“Right, with the marriage thing. …why would Zog kill you again?”   
“Why would Zog banish you for not being who you believed yourself to be?” Pendergast shot back.

“Fair point, fair point. Um… what about Luke Dashley?” Elfo said.   
Pendergast paused. “Haven’t heard much about him. There’s a bunch of profiles in a box nearby.”   
“Hang on…” Elfo found the box. “Luke—”   
“It’ll be under Dashley.”

“Alright, here we go. He’s the only son of Count Dashley, but he’s got two sisters. His mother is from the Lev—Lav…”   
“Levantine. I think Dashley Senior’s the one who brought back a wife from the Old Crusades.” Pendergast paused. “So, what is he? Idle rich? Competitive fucker?”   
“Uh… no known bastards…”   
“Not idle rich then. Haven’t seen him around, he’s not a throne chaser then. Hobbies?”

“Um… Greek mythology—”   
Pendergast relaxed. “Oh, okay then.”   
“What does that mean?” Elfo asked.

“Um… it means he’s an intentionally slow runner. Not interested in marrying her.”   
“You can tell just by his hobbies?”   
“Sometimes. Competitive fuckers and athletic idiots have a lot of the same hobbies, so you also have to look at things like how people in the area seem to react to them.” Pendergast said.   
“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it would be illegal for her to marry another man.”   
“That’s not what I meant.”   
Pendergast stilled for a minute. “After we were married… she accused me of not fighting for her. Not fighting to keep her. I hadn’t even seen it that way—I had just thought of it as doing my duty, something that would affect me more than her. I’m fighting for her now, the only way I really can.”   
“Nerd.” Elfo said, swinging his feet. Then he looked over at Pendergast, almost too casually. “Why did you think it wouldn’t matter to her?”

“Oh. We’re talking about that?” Pendergast finally turned fully away from the chalkboard, and crossed his arms. “You’re thinking it too, aren’t you? That I’m not… enough for her. I’m not handsome, or noble, or… well, you’ve seen all the deficits in my personality up close. So, when is she going to realize what we both know? This—someone _taking_ her from me, I won’t stand for. But if she wants to leave… _when_ she wants to leave… I just want her to be happy.”

“ _Wow_ , you’re kind of a sad sack when you’re not a homicidal maniac, aren’t you?” Elfo squinted at him. “Look, I don’t really _know_ you. Like as a person. But you love her, and that’s enough for me.”   
“Aren’t you…?” Pendergast gestured vaguely.   
“No.” Elfo said. “You’re not _competition_ to me, if that’s what you’re wondering. And I realized that kind of stuff a while back. I can’t stand up to her, you can. If you ask me, you two temper each other pretty well. She makes you less frowny, and from what I just heard, you make her less likely to do stupid shit.”

Pendergast stared at him.   
Elfo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Look, I don’t know you. But I do know you should trust her.”   
“I do trust her!”   
“Then trust that she knows what she’s doing with you?” Elfo shrugged. “This isn’t Bean-buckling-down-on-a-bad-decision stubborn, this is Bean-knows-she’s-right stubborn. I can tell the difference, and I think you can too.”   
Pendergast sighed. “I just… I don’t want to believe she can truly love me after she didn’t want to even say it, and get my heart broken all over again. It’s enough for me that she lets me be near her.”

“…let’s sort out some more guys.” Elfo said, because there wasn’t really anything else to say to that.   
Bean, meanwhile, had been sitting in silence with Luci.   
Luci broke first. “So, you’re not… bad at everything. I said that wrong before.”

Bean gave him a flat look. “No, you didn’t.”   
“I didn’t.” Luci agreed. “…look, don’t tell anyone, but I’m… scared. Of losing you guys.”   
Bean snorted. “What, like that makes up for you being a dick?”

“It works for Pendergast, _apparently_. C’mon, I said I was sorry.”   
“No. No, you didn’t. You got _real_ , but you never apologized.”   
“An apology was _implied_.”

“This is exactly why I’m mad at you. You just go around hurting people’s feelings and you act like it doesn’t matter!”   
“Time was, you were _exactly_ the same! You’re the one who changed!”   
“Stop trying to drag me down to your fucking level!” Bean snarled.   
Elfo looked over at them, and Pendergast grabbed him by the collar to look at the chalkboard. Like a good knight, Pendergast kept his eye trained on the board.

“Look, if you get better… you’ll leave me behind.” Luci muttered.   
“No, I’ll leave you behind if you’re being a fucking asshole. And if you can’t get that, then I’m not going to point it out for you. Get better, Luci. It’s… nice.” Bean admitted. “Being someone worth caring about.”   
“Wasn’t it enough for you that _we_ cared about you?” Luci huffed.

“Fuck off, Luci.” Bean said tiredly. “I’m not getting rid of you guys, I’m just making room. I’m more than, ‘the first clean woman Elfo saw’, and ‘the princess you were assigned to corrupt by my crazy family’. I’m… I’m not worthless. And I’m not going back to that.”

“Oh, because of him? He’s _so_ great.” Luci scoffed.   
Bean narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what? Yeah. He is. Because he believes in me, and he loves me unconditionally. And you want to know what else? I love him back. He’s annoying sometimes, but I _love_ the fact that he’s so _good_ , and _principled_ , and he’ll defend us all to his last breath if we let him. I _love_ that he’s an absolute dork, and blushes around me, and that he looks at me like I’m worth more than-than… than _anything_. I love that he’s smart, and I love knocking him down a peg when he’s a dick, because it doesn’t feel like _losing_ with him anymore when we fight. It feels like we’re getting to know each other better, and I really like who I’m getting to know. I love him. I like being _around_ him, which is more than I can say for you right now.”

And then she walked away, which, quite honestly, hurt more than the yelling.


	27. Oh fuck this guy's back and still terrified of Bean!

A few weeks later, the city and outskirts were swamped. Both with suitors, and their retinues, and with the people who were capitalizing on the situation.

Pendergast was unsure of how to feel. On the one hand, there were many people to keep his eye on—not just the fuckers trying to marry his wife, but also, potential criminals drawn in by the crowds. On the other, he was able to walk around the town with Bean, and for once, Dreamland didn’t smell like piss and rotting fish. Alright, it still kind of smelled like piss.

But for the most part, Dreamland was transformed. There was someone selling something on every corner; meats, trinkets, weapons, clothes—

“Ah, hello! It’s you two again! How was Caer Griffiths?” A man called to them.  
Pendergast swiveled in his spot, and he was vaguely aware of Bean stopping as well.  
It was the cloth merchant that Pendergast had lied to. Reflexively, Pendergast crossed his arms, causing a _clank_.  
“It’s so good to see you and your husband again!” The cloth merchant beamed at Bean, having decided Pendergast was off the table in terms of being a customer.

Oh. Right.  
Bean and Pendergast stared at him for a minute in panic, before they remembered.  
“It’s so good to see you too!” Bean said, a beat too slow.  
The cloth merchant looked between them. “Did I misspeak?”

“No, no you didn’t!” Bean said.  
“It’s… a delicate, _discreet_ matter.” Pendergast said, placing his hand on his sword hilt.  
The merchant winked at him. “Say no more. I think you’ll find that I can be a very reasonable man. While we’re on the subject, I have this _lovely_ bolt of cloth from the Bozak territories!”

He held up a blue, woolen cloth that matched Dreamland’s primary sigil colour fairly well.  
Pendergast glared at him. “I don’t think you really understand the position you’re in.”  
The merchant shrugged. “Maybe not. It’s either making a sale here while I can, or returning to my family with nothing. We can’t eat cloth, sir knight.”  
“How much is it?” Bean asked.

“For you, dear lady? A silver Derek per yard. I assure you, you won’t get such fine prices for such quality wool anywhere else!”  
“And how many yards?” Bean continued.  
The merchant paused, then looked at Pendergast for help, who shrugged.

“As many as you need, dear lady, to… sew with? I have it on good authority that a loose tunic takes 2.5 yards to sew?” The merchant finally said.  
Bean fidgeted. “What’s… the easiest thing to sew?”  
“A blanket, maybe?” Pen spoke up. “They’re just squares of fabric, right?”  
The merchant’s smile froze, implying that they were _not_ just squares of fabric.

“Birdy can help me, right?” Bean asked. “If I want to make a blanket?”  
“Uh… sure? When you eventually want to go back to Caer Griffiths, probably—”  
“What do I need for a blanket, and how much?” Bean interrupted.  
The merchant beamed. “I’d say a yard or two of this, and a yard of this fine red wool from Bentwood. That one is one Derek and twelve Tiabeanies per yard, but I assure you, it’s of the finest quality. So soft that a baby will go right to sleep under it. And you, sir, there would be your kingdom’s colours on either side, so that the baby might grow up under your gaze, so to speak.”

“Stop talking.” Pendergast said. “We’re not buying your cloth—what are you doing?”  
Bean was digging out money. Specifically, a golden Zog and a silver Derek. “So, two yards of the red, and two yards of the blue, right?”  
“Right away, ma’am.” The cloth merchant smiled. And then in addition to the cloth, they were given a tiny pile of copper coins.

“We really need to change the money system in Dreamland.” Bean muttered, pushing the cloth into Pendergast’s arms while she put away the money.  
“What’s wrong with the money system?” Pendergast asked.  
“It’s 60 copper Tiabeanies to a silver Derek, and 4 Dereks to a Zog. That means it’s 240 Tiabeanies to a Zog if someone asks for change.” The cloth merchant pointed out.  
“…what’s wrong with that?” Pendergast asked, still clearly trying to do the math for that in his head to verify it.  
The merchant slowly shook his head, and Bean pulled Pendergast away.

Luci watched, annoyed, from the rooftop, before scampering away.  
He climbed down a gutter pipe, muttering to himself. Elfo, of course, had been waiting near said pipe, and followed.  
“Luci—Lucille! Where are you going!”

“She thinks he’s fucking _perfect_!” Luci snapped over his shoulder. “But I know better, and when I show her that, she’ll go back to _normal_ and everything will be fine—hey!”  
Luci had just run smack-dab into an anachronistic green suit leg.

He looked up, and Elfo skidded to a stop, taking in the man who was looking at Luci curiously.  
He was of a medium height, with blond hair neatly cut under a similarly anachronistic hat. The hat itself was being poked up slightly, and the man’s eyes were completely black, with no sclera or iris. The man also had hooves instead of feet, but that wasn’t the weirdest thing to Elfo. Elfo had seen satyrs before, and blonds with stupid hats.

No, the weirdest thing was that the street was filthy, as always. Elfo had _skidded_ , after all. But the man’s clothes were spotless. …So were his hooves, actually.  
The man picked up Luci gently, tucking a clipboard under his arm in the process. “Hello, little one. What are you doing here?”  
“Don’t talk down to me!” Luci snarled. “I need you to give me the dirt on Sir Pendergast ap Arwel ap Maredudd or whatever the fuck he’s called.”

The man cocked his head. “What? Why would I do that? Besides, I’m far too busy for that.”  
“Who are you?” Elfo demanded.  
The man turned his gaze on him, and Elfo squirmed.  
“…you… are very interesting, aren’t you, Elfo, son of Elmo?” The man said softly. “You already went down to visit me? How sad that I wasn’t there to greet you.”

The hairs stood up on the back of Elfo’s neck. “How do you know my name?”  
The man knelt to look Elfo in the eye. “I know more than that—I can read all of your sins in the blink of an eye. I’m… well, let’s just say I’m the Devil. The original villain.”  
“What are you doing in Dreamland?” Elfo hissed, looking from him to Luci hurriedly.  
Luci finally spoke up. “He has to do the soul audits himself. Dreamland’s off-limits for us, for some reason.”

“But you’re here.”  
“Yes, that’s something I’m interested in finding out about as well.” The Devil said.  
“Can’t you just…read all his sins?” Elfo asked.  
The Devil sat down on a nearby barrel, with Luci on his lap. “No. Doesn’t work on demons. Not even ex-demons. …What _have_ you been up to, little one?” He scratched Luci under the chin, and Luci stretched contentedly, before remembering himself.

“Hey! Questions _after_ you look at Pendergast and give us dirt on him so—hey, scratch there!—so we can tell Bean he sucks.”  
“Your _plan_ sucks.” Elfo muttered, crossing his arms.

The Devil hummed. “Well, every man has his sins… oh, there he is, yes.”  
And indeed, Bean and Pendergast had rounded the corner. Luckily, they were still so far away that their conversation couldn’t even be heard, let alone for them to notice the Devil, Elfo, and Luci.  
“Well?” Luci demanded.  
“Well, there’s… ‘let his wife be on top during sex’. Everything else is crossed out, he’s been to confession for that.”  
“Boooo.” Luci said. “Give us _dirt_!”  
The Devil shrugged. “He’s not a very dirty man. The woman next to him however is a mess of… oh. Oh no no no.”

“That’s Bean!” Elfo said.  
“Yeah, we already know she’s a mess.” Luci snapped.  
The Devil clutched Luci to his chest. “I thought I’d have more time. I haven’t even gotten through all of my soul audits for Dreamland for the quarter, this isn’t fair…”  
“Soul audits?” Elfo said.

“People get better and worse over time. It’s a quarterly review.” The Devil said, not taking his eyes off of Bean. “I mostly have my demons collect information, but demons in Dreamland is… usually doesn’t work out well.”  
“That’s _great_ , can you let go of me now?” Luci asked.

The Devil did not let go. “You probably haven’t run into the princess yet, but I’m not losing another demon to That Thing.”  
“What? I’m the first demon she’s ever—”  
“ _I don’t mean the girl_.” The Devil snarled, eyes darting around, looking for an escape. “I’ll explain later, but for now…”

And then he was gone. And had taken Luci.  
Elfo took a deep breath, ready to scream.  
And as though there had been a pause, the Devil returned.  
And took Elfo as well.

And no one noticed anything besides a circle of cleanliness next to the barrel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5s/yard of good wool  
> 6s/yard of 'russet and tawny'  
> 1 Derek = 1 crown = 5 shillings  
> 1 Zog = 1 pound = 4 crowns = 20 shillings  
> 1 Tiabeanie = 1 pence   
> 1 shilling = 12 pence   
> Bean’s change should be 36 Tiabeanies


	28. David's a Proud Kid

While Bean and Pen were not noticing Elfo and Luci being accidentally kidnapped by a well-meaning Satan, their attention _was_ drawn by someone calling, “Bean!” in a delighted tone.  
Bean turned her head, which was all the warning she got before Alice hugged her tightly.  
“Hey, Alice! Last I heard, you guys were in Twinkletown!” Bean said as they pulled away.

David appeared out of Pendergast’s blind spot, and Pendergast admirably didn’t drop the cloth squarely into the filthy street. Both Griffiths men eyed each other, then gave a solemn nod.  
“Hello David. Peasant’s life working out well?” Pendergast asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Married life is.” David shrugged. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“David.” Alice said warningly.  
David cleared his throat. “Sorry, Penny. It’s been… rough these last few months.”  
“Yeah, how did you two survive?” Bean asked.

David set his jaw and looked away. “I… did not fulfill my duty when I asked her to become my wife.”  
“…you whored yourself out?” Pendergast guessed, before looking David up and down.  
Bean made a face. “Oh, wow, do you guys need money? Food, or something?”

“No! I simply meant that I was unable to step up and put money on the table, so Alice was forced to do so.” David huffed.  
“It’s bread on the table…” Pendergast muttered. David glared at him.  
“Oh my God, Alice, are you okay?” Bean asked.

Alice smiled daintily. “David worries. It’s just a bit of sewing and embroidery work in towns we passed through.”  
David took her hand, and kissed it gently. “And what sort of cad am I, that I force my wife to work?”  
“It’s not for lack of trying, my heart.” Alice chided softly.  
“Then I must try harder.”  
“I enjoy it, truly.”

“But you should not have to do what you love for money. You should be able to do it for enjoyment’s sake.” David said, moving to cup her face.  
“So why are you two in town?” Bean interrupted.  
“Well, everyone was coming to town, so we figured that it was time to see the Dreamland capital.” Alice shrugged, before her cheeks turned a dainty pink. “…and we wished to throw ourselves into the bosom of family.”

Bean and Pendergast shared a look.  
“Of course, we wouldn’t wish to impose!” Alice said quickly.  
David wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, but didn’t say anything.  
“David, I live in barracks.” Pendergast said gently. “That’s no place for a lady, and it’s no place for a civilian. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”  
David’s face fell, but he nodded. Alice placed a gentle hand on his and squeezed.

“ _But_ we’ll help you guys get set up somewhere else!” Bean said.  
“Such as the Griffiths tent in the suitors’ area.” Pendergast added. “Which is where we were headed previously. Also, Alice, I think we’d like to hire you.”  
“I’m sorry?” Alice said.

Bean caught on. “Well, I don’t really know how to sew, or embroider, or anything like that! But you know, and you’re good at it! Um… could you make me a blanket? I’ll pay you. Daily.”  
“I don’t know if this is enough material for an adult.” Alice said.   
Bean looked away, blushing slightly. “Um… I was thinking… maybe for a baby. For the future.”

Pendergast jolted. “ _What?_ I thought you didn’t want kids?”  
“You got in my head!” Bean huffed. “I don’t know, you’ve got a _great_ mom, and my dad isn’t completely terrible _all_ the time, so between the two of us we should be able to be okay, right? Like, be better than my mom and your dad ever were? I don’t know, I kind of want to stick it to their ghosts, and you know, what if I _don’t_ irreparably fuck up a human being for once? Because… I’m kind of getting better. And besides even if something happens to you, or to you and me, a kid will always love me. And you know, if I’m _married_ , I might as well have a kid. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve just kind of been thinking about it a lot and now I’m rambling and no one is stopping me--”  
Pendergast dumped the cloth in Alice’s arms and pulled Bean into a gentle kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“Do you have questions about where they live if the barracks are no place for a woman?” David muttered to Alice, who looked around before nodding gently.  
“Um, so, most people don’t know we’re married.” Bean admitted, making no move to leave Pendergast’s arms.  
“Because of the difference in social status?” Alice guessed.  
“Actually, yes.” Pendergast said, finally moving away from Bean and taking back the cloth from Alice.

Alice looked like she wanted to say something about how happy she was for them, but was interrupted.  
“Alice Broderick, is that you?”  
Alice immediately dropped into a deep curtsey, after shoving the cloth back into Pendergast's arms. “Hello, your royal highness.”  
Merkimer smiled slightly. “Please, dear girl, don’t soil your gown on my account. I’m hardly a prince anymore.”

“You have royal blood flowing through your veins.” David pointed out.  
Merkimer glanced at him. “…good Lord, you’re the cousin, aren’t you? Do they make a mold for you Griffiths to come out of?”  
“Merkimer.” Pendergast huffed. “What are you doing here?”  
“I came to see the Lady Broderick—and the Honorable David Griffiths—for myself.” Merkimer said.

David raised an eyebrow. “Sir, I assure you, I would never impugn her honor. I have married her, and given her my family name.”  
“How’d you even know they were here?” Bean asked.  
“I have my ways.” Merkimer said.

“By which you mean, you didn’t, but you decided to check in on them anyway while you were wandering around looking for scraps.” Pendergast deadpanned.  
“ _Or_ , you could just buy me real food.” Merkimer pointed out.  
“I would, but it’s people food.” Pendergast replied.  
Alice gasped. “Sir, you can’t say such things!”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “Why? He’s not a person.”  
“Hey, Pen, be nice.” Bean said.  
“Since when do you care about me?” Merkimer asked her.  
“I don’t, but I meant he should be nice to Alice.” Bean said.

David nodded firmly. “Newidiodd priodas chi.”  
“Er gwell?” Pendergast guessed, his tone lighter than David’s by far.  
“Na, er gwaeth. Nid ydych hyd yn oed yn ei weld; rydych chi'n llawn amarch!”  
“Ond rydych chi'n fy beirniadu yn Gymraeg.” Pendergast cocked his head.  
“Nid wyf yn gwybod faint o Gymraeg y mae eich gwraig yn ei wybod. Rwy'n ceisio cynnal eich anrhydedd o'i blaen… nid ei fod yn bwysig, chi cachu anniolchgar.” David spat.

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “Geiriau cryf. Amserau caled ar y ffordd?”  
David ground his teeth. “Dwi wedi dweud digon amdano.”  
“…what just happened? Who won?” Merkimer asked, looking between Bean and Alice.  
“This is a kingdom of disrespect.” David sniffed.

Pendergast rolled his eye. “I am beginning to rethink the divine right to rule.”  
David made a sound like a goose hissing. “You-you-you’re unbelievable!”  
“That is a pig. He has a fancy hat, but he is a pig nonetheless. God is clearly the one who did this to him.” Pendergast pointed out.  
“Aw, you think my hat’s fancy?” Merkimer asked.  
“The _princess_ did this to him!” David snapped.

Bean grimaced.  
Merkimer sat down to look up at her. “I’ve seen you headbutt Pendergast for calling you, ‘your ladyness’. Admittedly, he was off with the title, but he seemed well-intentioned.”  
“I headbutted him for getting in the way of my murder plans.” Bean said. “I don’t care if he calls me ‘your grace’, or whatever.”  
“ _That_ is for duchesses. You are not a duchess.” David pointed out.

“The _point_ is, why aren’t you absolutely destroying this new, teenage clone of Pendergast?” Merkimer asked, glancing at David, then back to Bean.  
Bean shifted uncomfortably. “I dunno, man. I don’t want to do that in front of Alice, she’s a good kid. And besides, David’s just a kid, you know? Pen’s an adult man. And I couldn’t be _handled_ that day, I had shit to do.”

Merkimer made a face like he would have raised an eyebrow if he had one. “Marriage seems to have changed you.”  
Bean crossed her arms, and glowered at him. “Yeah, I’m sure you were hoping for that all along.”  
Merkimer cocked his head. “I don’t know _what_ I was hoping for. I… quite honestly, I’m a bit glad that I’ve had this opportunity to step away from the prince I was. It’s one thing when you’re a man, but when you’re a pig, even a woman looks more human than you.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Bean snapped, taking a step forward.  
“I meant it in a nice way! Pendergast, haven’t you ever read Plato regarding women?”  
“This is why you’re a workplace acquaintance.” Pendergast said, which meant, yes, he had. However, no, he wasn’t going to comment on it. Ever. That kind of talk led tofights which led to Fights—and hey, she _still_ wasn’t speaking to the cat-demon-thing and he was mildly afraid she’d kill him if he quotes _that_ bit of knowledge at her.

“The part where women are trapped in a state between men and animals?” David said, which was… slightly embellishing it. Slightly.  
Alice wasn’t paying attention, and luckily managed to distract Bean. “…would you happen to be Princess Tiabeanie, Bean?”  
“What? No. She can’t be.” David interrupted.

Pendergast shuffled awkwardly. Merkimer made his eyebrowless eyebrow raise face again. Bean glared at David, which seemed pretty commonplace by now.  
“Oh.” Said David, very softly.  
“Let’s go drop you off at the Griffiths tent.” Pendergast recommended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Newidiodd priodas chi.” _Marriage changed you._  
>  “Er gwell?” _For the better?_  
>  “Na, er gwaeth. Nid ydych hyd yn oed yn ei weld; rydych chi'n llawn amarch!” _No, for the worse. You don’t even see it; you are full of disrespect._  
>  “Ond rydych chi'n fy beirniadu yn Gymraeg.” _But you criticize me in Welsh._  
>  “Nid wyf yn gwybod faint o Gymraeg y mae eich gwraig yn ei wybod. Rwy'n ceisio cynnal eich anrhydedd o'i blaen… nid ei fod yn bwysig, chi cachu anniolchgar.” _I don’t know how much Welsh your wife knows. I’m trying to maintain your honor before her… not that it matters, you ungrateful shit._  
>  “Geiriau cryf. Amserau caled ar y ffordd?” _Strong words. Hard times on the road?_  
>  “Dwi wedi dweud digon amdano.” _I’ve said enough about it._


	29. GUESS WHO'S BACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months............................ it's back............... Lauren's most self-indulgent AU yet. Thank you everybody for being here!

“So why is there a Griffiths tent here anyway?” Bean asked, striding a bit faster to keep up with Pen. “They know we’re married.”  
“Yes, but much like your family…” Pendergast trailed off. “Hang on, I’m going to need to shake David to make sure he doesn’t go blurting this out.”

Bean grabbed his arm. “No, you’re not. I’ll get Alice to talk to him.”  
Pendergast looked at her for a minute, then nodded. “You like kids, huh?”  
“What? No. What?” Bean said, looking away.  
Pendergast cracked a smile. “My question is, why be nice to _David_? He’s been nothing but disrespectful to you—you would have tried to kill me for less.”

“Because he’s Alice’s. And she deserves something nice.” Bean glanced back at Alice, David, and Merkimer, then turned back to Pendergast.  
“I just never thought I’d see you have a soft spot for kids.”  
She punched his shoulder gently. “Shut up, I’m not soft.”  
“ _Sure_ you’re not.”  
“If you weren’t carrying things for me, I’d kick your ass here and now.”

“Mmm, debatable.” Pendergast grinned. “I’m in full plate, princess.”  
“Aren’t you two supposed to be keeping this all a secret?” Merkimer interrupted, trotting up to them. “David Griffiths isn’t the problem if you’re openly flirting.”  
“Flirting?” Pendergast held the cloth tighter to his chest, as though he could hide behind it.  
“How much did you hear?” Bean demanded. “Were you spying on us?”

Merkimer snorted. “No, I really wasn’t. You two are just _loud_ —Pendergast, why are you making that face? Are you alright?”  
Pendergast was flushed and _very_ pointedly not looking at anyone.  
“Aw, you embarrassed him.” Bean laughed.

“May God forgive you for your sins.” David hissed from his other side.  
Pendergast glared at him, though the blush hadn’t necessarily abated. “May your wife forgive you for yours.”  
David made a choking sound, and Pendergast kept walking.  
David caught up with them. “Are you saying she… are you saying your wife has a higher authority than _God_ to you?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth—oh, thank God, here’s the pavilion.”  
And indeed, they had just reached the field outside of the city walls. As far as the eye could see, there were tents, some of which had flags of every colour imaginable outside them.

Bean twisted, trying to see them all at once. “Holy shit, that guy’s sigil is a ripped off head.”  
“That’s the Parkins.” David and Pendergast said at the same time, before shooting each other an annoyed look.  
Pendergast rolled his shoulders. “The heir got married earlier this year. His younger brother is in attendance, and I’ve tentatively classified him as idle rich. All bark and no bite.”

“Is that house near to Caer Griffiths?” Alice asked tentatively.  
“No, my honeysuckle. It’s just good practice in our family to know the other houses.” David said gently.  
Pendergast rolled his eye.

“Holy shit, who’s _that_?” Bean pointed at a huge tent, with a purple flag and gold stars, in the centre of the camp.  
“That’s Twinkletown. Have you ever been _anywhere_ besides wherever these clones come from?” Merkimer asked.  
“Hey! I’ve been lots of places! Just not in Dreamland.” Bean huffed. “Besides, the Duke of Twinkletown lost a foot to gout last I heard. What’s he doing here?”

“The Ifans family does not stop with our uncle.” David sniped. “Our second cousin is the heir.”  
“You’re related to the Evans family?” Merkimer asked, aghast.  
“Unimportant.” Pendergast said, as David said, “Our grandmother is the aunt of the duke.”  
“No offense, but how did an _Evans_ marry into… who are you again?” Merkimer asked David.

“Merkimer.” Pendergast growled. “Not now.”  
“Excuse me sir, but where exactly is the Griffiths tent?” Alice asked.  
Pendergast stood up straight, and glanced around like he was trying to remember written plans translated into real experience. “That way.” He nodded.  
And indeed, a bit further down, there was a large red tent, outside the opening to which was a familiar crest in red and gold, snapping in the wind.

There was also a familiar person sitting outside, humming to himself.  
“Thomas?!” Bean asked. “What are you doing here?”  
“Hello, terrible sister in law.” Thomas grinned. “ _I_ am the only single Griffiths man left, and all our prestige comes from posturing, Penny, and blood. We weren’t going to miss this. Hello, Penny, David.”  
“And Alice.” Bean said firmly.  
Thomas looked interested. “I didn’t know you hadn’t run off on David yet. Good on you, girl. Looks like you’ve got some roses in your cheeks.”

“Thank you?” Alice tried, looking between him and Bean.  
Satisfied, Bean turned back to the matter at hand. “Wasn’t there… a cousin… or something? Missing a foot? Why _you_?”  
“You’re thinking of Penny, and he’s missing an eye.” Thomas said cheerfully. “Check if you want, he’s right next to you.”  
“ _Thomas_.” Pendergast snapped.

“Alright, alright. Uncle wasn’t going to hear any different, and it’s all about putting on a show anyway. I’m going to do a light jog at best.” Thomas said, though he raised an eyebrow. “Imagine my surprise when I heard that the princess of Dreamland herself was getting married at _last_. Hopefully _this_ one won’t end so badly, hm?”  
“Thomas!” David hissed. “ _No_! We don’t say that!”  
“Out of family loyalty, or loyalty to Merkimer?” Pendergast muttered.

“Shush. It’s obviously Merkimer.” Bean muttered back.  
“Rude.” Merkimer muttered. Bean and Pendergast grimaced at him, having forgotten he was there.  
Thomas shrugged. “What? It’s true. Did you know the part where she jumped off a cliff to avoid getting married?”  
David looked at Bean. “Suicide is a sin.” He said gravely.  
Bean grimaced. “Hell wouldn’t have me.”

David crossed himself, before turning back to Thomas. “We’ll be staying with you, cousin.”  
“The more the merrier.” Thomas said. “Ah, speaking of which—we’ve got company!”  
“Who the hell is coming to see—Alice!” Blodeuwedd, who had poked her head out of the tent, broke into a sprint and tackled Alice in a hug.  
“Hello, Blodeuwedd.” Alice said.

“Good Lord, there are _so many_ of you.” Merkimer said. “And this is the first one that isn’t a brawny Welshman.”  
“Ah, talking pig. Is David really _brawny_?” Thomas mused. “Birdy could probably take him.”  
“Thomas!” David hissed.

“Your problem now.” Pendergast said. “You can keep the pig too if you want, just don’t eat him.”  
Blodeuwedd looked up at him, then her eyes slid to his left. “Bean! Hi!”  
“I am _hurt_ , Birdy.” Pendergast huffed, offloading the cloth onto Alice in anticipation of a hug.  
Unfortunately, Blodeuwedd tackled Bean into a hug next. This was about when David and Alice entered the tent.

“What are you even doing here?” Bean asked.  
“I already explained, as the only single man of House Griffiths left—”  
“Not _you_ , Thomas.” Bean snapped.

Blodeuwedd pulled back. “This is the best opportunity I have to meet a man on my own terms. To pick someone I like, like you did.”  
“Alright, we’re not even going to pretend that thing Penny is obviously trying to keep under wraps didn’t happen. Wonderful.” Thomas muttered. “We’re all going to get hanged.”  
“So you _do_ know why we’re keeping it quiet.” Pendergast said.

“ _Obviously_ I know why, I was just ribbing you!” Thomas huffed. “I’m not a complete idiot.”  
Bean made a face, clearly thinking it over. Blodeuwedd meanwhile, had spotted Merkimer. “Oh, hello.” She said in a baby voice. “Are you a lost little piggy wiggy?”  
“Not really.” Merkimer said.  
Blodeuwedd scooped him up, apparently unfazed by the fact that he could talk. “Who’s a good little piggy wiggy baby?”

“Excuse me, I am an adult man.” Merkimer said. “A prince, actually. I’m not a _baby_.”   
Blodeuwedd bounced him a bit. “Shh, settle down little piggy wiggy.”  
“This is demeaning.” Merkimer sighed, though he leaned into the hug.  
“Don’t get too comfortable, pig.” Thomas said. “If you’re not good enough for _her_ , you’re not good enough for Birdy.”

Blodeuwedd glared at him. “I’m not going to marry a _pig_ , Thomas! Especially not one with _weird magic_ around him!”  
“What?” Merkimer said.  
Pendergast suddenly found staring at the sigil very interesting.  
“Well, no one knows how you turned into a pig.” Blodeuwedd said.

“I… first of all, you know who I am?!”  
“You kind of have a cute little hat. And Pen writes to his sister a lot.” Bean pointed out.  
“Second, I became a pig due to my own hubris.” Merkimer said. Everyone looked at Pendergast.  
“It _technically_ wasn’t a lie. I don’t understand magic.” Pendergast said, without looking at any of them.

“Why did you become a pig?” Blodeuwedd asked, holding Merkimer away from her.  
“I drank elf’s blood mixed with pig’s blood before my wedding.” Merkimer huffed.  
“And _why_ would you do that?” Thomas asked.  
“Nid oes angen i Blodeuwedd glywed hyn.” Pendergast hissed. “Mae'n amhriodol.”

Blodeuwedd squeezed Merkimer to her chest like a cuddly toy. “I’m not a _baby_ Penny!”  
Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to hear this, trust me.”  
Blodeuwedd glared at him, then looked at Bean. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”  
“Uh… I mean… it kind of involves me confessing to attempted murder so…” Bean fidgeted.

“WHAT?!” Merkimer squawked. “Of _who_?!”  
Bean crossed her arms. “Who do you think?”  
Merkimer gasped. “Mean! Pendergast, did you hear that?”  
“Heard it, saw it at the time. Nothing happened though.” Pendergast pointed out. “For an attempted murder charge, I need evidence.”

“What, and the testimony of the Captain of the Guard doesn’t count?” Merkimer snarked.  
“What testimony?” Pendergast grinned.  
“Horrible! You two deserve each other.” Merkimer moaned.  
Blodeuwedd patted his head. “So what’s the Horrible Horrible Part that I can’t possibly know about? Especially if it’s not the attempted murder part?”

“Well he did cause an international incident…” Bean pointed out.   
“I was nearly eaten for that!” Merkimer protested. “And _Pendergast_ was involved in that too!”  
“Well, I’m half blind.” Pendergast cocked his head. “And it was dark, and I was very much trying to _unsee_ the last I’d seen of you.”  
“ _Oh_. Well, you’re married! You understand carnal urges! I know you do, you were whin—”  
“Merkimer, _shut up_.” Pendergast snarled.

Bean glanced between them, then grinned. “Was that when we first got back?”  
“Yes!” Merkimer huffed.  
“This is all very well and good but I _know_ Penny can pine and sigh and have feelings over Bean. I have _evidence_. I want to know what made this man turn into a pig.”

“He fucked thirty walruses and drank what he thought was pure elf blood to be able to make it to the wedding night.” Bean deadpanned.  
“Manatees.” Merkimer corrected.  
“This is what happens if you spit in the eyes of God and fornicate with creatures.” Thomas said.

Pendergast nodded.  
“ _How_ is that your takeaway from this?” Bean demanded.  
“It’s simple—he committed sins in the eyes of God, fornicating with beasts. God turned him into a beast.” Thomas said.  
“But then wouldn’t he be a manatee?” Blodeuwedd wondered.

“No, that encourages a repeat of the behavior.” Pendergast said. “This is why he is a pig—they can’t swim without cutting open their throats.”  
“That’s… really not true.” Merkimer said.  
“ _Anyway_ , because now my innocent little sister knows of your debauchery—Birdy, please put the pervert down.” Pendergast said, crossing his arms.

Blodeuwedd looked down at Merkimer, then back at her brother. “But now he’s just an innocent little piggy wiggy baby.”  
“ _This_ is the true punishment for my sins.” Merkimer whined. “Do you know how _demeaning_ it is for her to call me that?”  
“I’m with Pen on this one. You don’t really want to… touch him.” Bean grimaced.

Blodeuwedd considered this. “But what if I give him a bath?”  
“A bath would be quite nice actually.” Merkimer said.  
“He’s not a _pet_ , Blodeuwedd!” Pendergast hissed. “He’s a grown man—older than Thomas!”  
“I am uncomfortable with you being in any situation where there’s a grown man in a bath with you nearby.” Thomas agreed.

Blodeuwedd seemed to consider this. “Ni wnaeth hen ddylo erioed gerdded yn ôl y peth porc.”  
“What do you mean?” Pendergast demanded.  
“Ni ddywedais erioed na fyddwn yn priodi ceidwad moch.” Blodeuwedd shrugged. “Felly, rydw i fod i fwyta porc yn unig.”  
“Are you going to put ribbons on me?” Merkimer asked.

“Maybe.” Blodeuwedd said with a grin.  
Pendergast paled. “No. No. Do _not_ do it.”  
“Rwy'n cytuno, bydd yn eich gwneud chi'n sâl.” Thomas added.  
Blodeuwedd giggled, and turned to leave.  
“Blodeuwedd!” Pendergast growled. “Don’t you _dare_!”

“Don’t she dare _what_?” Bean demanded. “I didn’t catch much.”  
Blodeuwedd took off in a run, and Pendergast followed.  
“Well, let me put it this way—pork translates between the languages pretty well.” Thomas laughed.   
Bean took off running after Pendergast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t need to hear this. It’s inappropriate. -- Nid oes angen i Blodeuwedd glywed hyn. Mae'n amhriodol.  
> [Old hands, a Welsh term of endearment for the elderly] never walked back the pork thing. -- Ni wnaeth hen ddylo erioed gerdded yn ôl y peth porc.  
> I never said I would not marry a pig keeper. So I’m supposed to only eat pork. -- Ni ddywedais erioed na fyddwn yn priodi ceidwad moch. Felly, rydw i fod i fwyta porc yn unig.  
> I agree, it will make you sick. -- Rwy'n cytuno, bydd yn eich gwneud chi'n sâl.
> 
> \-------------------------------  
> So the thing about believing pigs can't swim is an old belief, but I haven't really been able to find anything for the time period on it. Mostly 1600s/1700s stuff, but I'm going to bend a bit and say that it's something that the Griffiths hold as true. As established, it's what they _believe_ to be true, not what factually is.


	30. The OCs got away from me (again)

The next day, Bean stretched, and eyed her competition. It was the first race of many, since Odval was trying to milk the event of all the money possible. This race was eight guys, who Pen had walked her through last night after avoiding an international incident regarding Merkimer. Colt Abbott, the guy who was closest to her, was staring at her and smiling in an unnerving way, running his tongue over his teeth like he thought it was hot or something. She wrinkled her nose at him, remembering how Pendergast had called him a throne chaser, and warned her to be on the look-out for _dirty tricks_.

Next to him was Bruce Austin, who was taller than any man Bean had ever seen, and built like a bear. (After the whole Ursula thing, she wasn’t sure that he _wasn’t_ part bear, but, you know, she wasn’t going to hold that against him.) Pendergast had written him off as an athletic idiot, but that didn’t mean Bean was any less wary of him than the slimy guy. Klaus Bright, next to Austin, was also giving her a slimy smile, but this guy reminded her more of Merkimer than anything else. In love with himself, thinking he was God’s gift to women, than kind of thing. Pendergast had written him off as idle rich, which she hoped was true, because the thought of being married to _him_ kind of set off the nausea she’d been having off and on all morning.

Next to him was another man stretching—Angus Byrne, if Pendergast’s memory served her right. This one was the one Pendergast viewed as the greatest threat, so she sized him up. This was the kind of man that needed to win—not for her, not for anything like that, just because he needed to _win_ —and didn’t care who got in his way. The guy next to him, Edgar Cole, was blowing kisses to the crowd and waving. Roderich Clark, who Pendergast was worried was idle rich, was subtly checking out Cole’s ass—which, yeah, it was a nice ass, she was married, not blind—so that took care of that. The darker skinned man there—Luke Dashley—made eye contact with her, and gave an awkward smile. Bean grimaced back. She could just make out behind him another man stretching, but this one seemed to be blank. Like Austin, Pendergast thought he was an athletic idiot.

Speaking of which, she turned her head to her left, where there was a fence separating the spectators and the competitors. Pendergast, who had been glaring at the other competitors, softened upon seeing her. She grinned at him, and he gave a quick look around before smiling back.   
“Dork.” She mouthed.   
“Your dork, princess.” He mouthed back.

“Are you ready!” Odval called.   
The crowd cheered.   
“I said; are you ready!”   
Bean crouched slightly, eyes on the horizon.

“Then with this bell, let the races begin!”   
The crowd roared, and Bean ran. Faster than when Pen had tried to talk about _feelings_ , faster than ever before—and it still nearly wasn’t good enough. She skidded across the finish line mere seconds before that huge bear man crossed.   
“Ha! In your face!” She crowed.

Angus Byrne sped right past to her yell to Pendergast, “I want a rematch.”   
Pendergast stared coolly back at him. “No rematches. She beat you fair and square.”   
Bean grimaced, and turned away—only to run smack dab into Colt Abbott.

“Hello, princess.” He moved to take her hand, and she snatched it away.   
“Uh, hi.” She tried to move around him, and he side-stepped to follow her.   
“I must say, I expected a much more… satisfactory result.” He smirked at her.   
Bean crossed her arms. “Well, I’m pretty satisfied.”

“Oh? But I’m sure I could _definitely_ ensure that you could be even more satisfied. If you let me.”   
She squinted at him. “What are you implying?”   
“I’ve heard you’re a woman of… indelicate tastes, and I can indulge them.”   
She stomped hard on his foot. “No, I meant what kind of weird little game are you trying to play, asshole? I’m not going to fuck you.”

Colt Abbott leapt back, hissing in pain. “You little…!”   
“Abbott, piss off.” Someone growled behind her.   
She turned—only to find the bear man.   
Abbott paled and scurried off.

“Um… hi.” Bean said.   
Bruce Austin gave her a nod. “Came to congratulate you on the run. Good job.”   
“Thanks. You too?”   
Another nod. “I’m glad you won fairly.”   
“I wasn’t going to cheat.” Bean huffed.

Bruce blinked. “No, I ran my hardest, but I don’t want to marry you. I have a girl back home—Ellie.”   
“Then why not run more slowly?”   
“Because that’s not fair.” Bruce said.   
Bean squinted at him, but she didn’t really want to cause a fight with a new friend over nothing. Not _really_ , anyway. So instead, she asked, “Are you going back home to her now?”

“Nah, gotta stay for all the other things. Represent House Austin—you know how it is. Get some good meals out of it, even if I’ll have to dance.” Bruce Austin threw back his head and let out a roar of a laugh.   
Bean tilted her head. That seemed… familiar. “Are you… a forest selkie?”   
Bruce beamed at her. “My da was. I’m surprised—not many follow the old ways anymore.”   
“My dad dated a forest selkie.”

“Ah, and was left high and dry, just like my ma, eh?” Bruce shrugged. “I got nothing but my size and my ears from him.”   
“Ears?” Bean asked.   
Bruce knelt a bit, then brushed aside the hair on top of his head to reveal two fluffy ears.   
“Ears.” He repeated with a wink, settling himself back into his former position.

“FOR THE LAST TIME, WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU WON—WHICH I _EXPLAINED_ —DOES NOT EVEN MATTER BECAUSE YOU LOST!” Pendergast roared at Angus Byrne. This thankfully provided a new route for Bean and Bruce’s conversation.

“I DESERVE A REMATCH!” Angus shouted back.   
“WHAT YOU DESERVE IS TO DIE IN A FUCKING HOLE—” That was when Odval shoulder-checked Pendergast out of the way, and cleared his throat. “Of course, a rematch is unable to happen, but rest assured, we are thankful that you came here, and will try to make your situation more comfortable. If you want, I’m sure Sir Pendergast would help with the organization of unofficial races.”   
“I wouldn’t trust him to wipe his own ass.” Angus spat, though he stalked off. Odval took his leave as well.

Before Pendergast could answer Angus Byrne, he was swept up into a hug from behind.   
“Gast! Gast Griffiths!” Bruce called joyfully. “Is that you?”   
Bean snickered as Pendergast struggled free, and whipped around to face his would-be assailant. “Hi—” was all Pendergast had to say before Bruce Austin swept him up into another hug.

“I thought you were dead!” Bruce said.   
“Ah, no… just… took an arrow to the eye.” Pendergast gestured to his eyepatch.   
“You _crumpled_ to the ground after taking it!” Bruce insisted. “Why weren’t you wearing your helmet, man?!”   
Pendergast muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I couldn’t see very well.”   
Bruce finally let him down. “My god—I can still see the blood pouring from your eye like tears.”   
“We don’t really need to talk about this in front of the princess—”

“She should know how brave you were!” Bruce insisted. “Everyone should! I was going to name a child after you!”   
Pendergast winced. “ _Please_ don’t do that.”   
“I will.” Bruce vowed. “Princess, this man was about to raise the flag of Dreamland when he saw a treacherous foe aim a bow for your father. He took the arrow himself, didn’t even scream when they ripped out his eye with it.”   
“That’s because I was unconscious.” Pendergast deadpanned.

“Better than being dead!” Bruce insisted.   
“They _ripped_ _out your eye_?” Bean asked, sounding far too fascinated.   
Pendergast sighed. “As far as I understand—yes. The arrow’s barbs weren’t coming out without the eyeball itself—it was decided it was better to make it clean than to let it fester.”   
“So are you here for the race?” Bruce asked blithely, as though they had not just been discussing eyeballs and the lack thereof.   
“No, I’m married. I work at the castle.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Will I see your wife at the ball tonight, then?”   
“Ball?” Bean repeated. “What ball?”

That was when Odval appeared behind her. “Tonight there will be a ball to celebrate the opening of the festivities, and because we would like to get the measure of some people herein.”   
“Such as Angus Byrne?” Pendergast crossed his arms.   
“Please don’t cause fights.” Odval sighed. “But I suspect he’ll leave soon anyway.”

“So this would be a perfect time for me to meet your wife and catch up with you, Gast!” Bruce grinned behind his huge beard.   
“I didn’t know your wife was in the capital, Pendergast.” Odval narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
“I…” Pendergast looked at Bean for help.

“Oh my god—is that man on fire?” Bean gasped, spinning on her heel and pointing into the crowd. “Pendergast, go help him!”   
“Yes, princess!” Pendergast said, before running away.   
Odval sighed, before slinking away.

“So how do you know Pen?” Bean asked Bruce.   
“We were squires together in the Lemon Crusade.” Bruce said. “Always got stuck on armor polishing duty together—got to talking. I have to say, you’re a lot nicer than he made you ought to be at the time, but I s’pose we’ve all grown up since then, aye?”   
Bean squinted at him. “I guess. What’ve you heard?”

Bruce laughed. “That you were a bratty child—but Gast didn’t seem to realize how lonely you sounded in those stories. Guess it made sense, he was lonely too.”   
Bean shuffled awkwardly. “Anything else?”   
“Ah, the bits about you bein’ a proper hellion?” Bruce laughed. “I’m sure Gast wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“What?” Bean asked, paling.  
“Well, the way he looked atcha when he was being asked about his wife. How evasive he was— ‘cause he can’t get caught in a direct lie, it’ll expose itself instantly. And your reaction just now.” Bruce laughed. “I s’pose it makes sense, now that I have it all together. Star-crossed lovers, and all that. See you at the ball, princess Tiabeanie.”   
“Call me Bean. Only my best friends and worst enemies call me Tiabeanie.”

“I’m sure I wouldna want to be counted among the latter, Princess Bean.”   
Bean didn’t push the issue, instead bidding him goodbye.   
Unfortunately, she was then immediately captured by Bunty.

Pendergast did not get an opportunity to see her again until later that night. Instead, due to a clothing problem (namely, David didn’t have any formalwear) he was stuck dealing with the Griffiths’ problems.

“So what kind of wine do they serve here?” Thomas asked, bedecked in Pendergast’s brown suit. It was just a tiny bit too small for him, giving everyone the impression that if he moved too fast, it would split.   
David was in Thomas’ formalwear, which had been pinned in several places by a helpful Alice so that it did not swim on him. It was… not much better. He made a face at Thomas. “At least pretend you’re here for something else.”

“Ah, yes.” Thomas said. “I am _definitely_ here to marry the princess, who is an unwed maiden.”   
A beat, then he said, “No, I’m not—mostly because I dislike her particularly out of all women.”   
“Thanks, Thomas.” Pendergast snarked. Of the three Griffiths men, he was dressed the best—mostly because he had had the good sense to wear his dress uniform.

Thomas, who had snagged a glass of brandy off of a passing servant, raised it in toast to him. That was when Blodeuwedd came bounding over, Alice in tow, carrying Blodeuwedd’s stash of stolen hors d’oeuvres.

“Okay, this should be good if we want to set up base here.” Blodeuwedd said, dumping them all on the small table that the Griffiths had clustered themselves around.   
Pendergast pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot be serious—it’s a _party_. We’re meant to spread out. Talk to people.”   
“Yes, how do you ever expect to find a husband with this behavior, Blodeuwedd?” David asked, though he took a small sausage roll.

Blodeuwedd stuck her tongue out at him. “David, stop being mean to me in a time of vulnerability.”   
“What happened?” Alice asked gently, eyes wide.   
Thomas and Pendergast both grimaced.   
“My brothers wouldn’t let me bring my little piggy wiggy.” Blodeuwedd said dramatically.   
“Mostly because, and I quote, your main argument for being allowed to do so was that ‘he needed fattening up’.” Pendergast deadpanned. “Which is _definitely_ not allowed.”

“How is he meant to survive the coming winter without meat on his bones, Penny?” Blodeuwedd whined.   
“He survived the past one well enough, seeing as it’s March.” Thomas pointed out.   
“Again—I need you to stop alluding to you eating him.” Pendergast begged, albeit in Welsh.   
Blodeuwedd pouted. “No promises.”

“Birdy, you’ll worry me to an early grave.” Pendergast sighed.   
This was when Odval passed by. “Is this your wife, Pendergast?”   
“Ewwwww, no!” Blodeuwedd gagged.   
“Odval, this is my brother, sister, cousin, and… cousin in law.” Pendergast pointed to them all in turn. “Don’t mind Birdy, please.”

Blodeuwedd smiled, and dropped into a deep curtsy.   
Odval raised an eyebrow. “And where is your wife?”   
“She’s not here yet.” Thomas broke in. “Also, Birdy, stop that. He’s like 40.”   
“I’m not trying to fuck him, I’m just trying to be polite!” Blodeuwedd hissed.

Odval looked incredibly tired. “Pendergast, thank you for the refresher upon why I plucked you from these people so long ago. Out of curiosity though, why did your wife not come up to the castle with your family?”   
Pendergast looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Ah… sir, please excuse me. There’s someone I would like my brother to meet.”

Thomas tossed back his alcohol and waved at Odval, before Pendergast dragged him away.   
“So, do you know any men about my age ready to get married?” Blodeuwedd asked conversationally.   
Odval grimaced, and speed-walked away. Nonplussed, Blodeuwedd popped a bit of bread in her mouth and began people watching with Alice and David.

Pendergast, meanwhile, had gone for his first instinct—Luke Dashley—upon setting himself on this course.   
Luke was in a corner of the room, laughing with a friend.   
“Lord Dashley.” Pendergast said, pulling up short. “Hello.”   
“Hello, Sir. Have we met?” Luke said.

“I read your file.” Pendergast said.   
“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked.   
“Right, sorry. I have a file on all of the princess’s suitors here for the thing. The race. Yes.” Pendergast had absolutely no experience at matchmaking.   
Luke smiled. “Then you have me at a disadvantage sir.”

Thomas was starting to turn pink, and Pendergast suspected it wasn’t from the wine.   
“Lord Dashley, I am given to understand that you have an interest in Greek mythology.” Pendergast said.   
Luke stilled, and took a sip of his wine. “What are you getting at, sir?”   
“My brother also likes Greek mythology.” Pendergast said, nudging Thomas.

“Greek _what_?” Thomas looked like he’d been dropped through a Zog hole.   
Pendergast winked at Luke, which was very hard and overexaggerated because of his lack of another eye.   
Luke smiled shakily. “It… while I appreciate your interest, I’m not sure that it works that way. You wouldn’t chase after a woman just because she was a woman.”   
“Ah. Women. Don’t like those.” Thomas said. “Let’s go, Penny.”

Luke burst out laughing. “Alright, fair. I like your honesty, sir.”   
Thomas looked like a deer in headlights. “Who me? _Me_ me?”   
“Who else?”   
“Uh…” Thomas flushed. “Um. So. What’s uh… what’s your favorite tree?”

“…I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.” Luke said. “Um… Poplar, I believe. The silvery kind.”   
Thomas nodded. “Yes. Trees. Good. Um… your face is very nice. Also, please say more words.”   
Luke laughed again. “Aren’t you going to tell me your favorite?”   
“My favorite?” Thomas repeated.   
“How much have you had to drink?” Pendergast hissed at him.

That snapped Thomas out of it. “Sh! Not that much at all! Can’t you see this nice, gorgeous man has asked me what my favorite sea is?”   
“Say the Caspian.” Pendergast whispered.

“I’m not going to say the Caspian! You said the bloody Caspian!” Thomas turned back to Luke, who was watching this with a smile and a raised eyebrow..   
“If I had to pick one,” Thomas said, having filled himself with false confidence by arguing with his younger brother, “It’d be the Irish Sea.”   
“Okay, well, I just want you to know that I have no expectations of this, but you seem like my brother hasn’t incensed you to the point of rage yet, so why don’t you keep track of him for now.” Pendergast gave Luke a quick thumbs-up before retreating.

It was perfect timing, because then the crier called, “Announcing Princess Tiabeanie, Winner of the Drink-til-you-Puke Competition Three Years Running, Destroyer of Suitors, She Whose Chest has been Greatly Exaggerated in Non-official Portraiture!”   
Any reply Pendergast would have had about that was snatched away, because she was there.

Her white hair was shining around her like a halo, part of it up and braided into a crown of sorts. There was a bit of makeup on her, and he wanted to wipe it off, show off those beautiful freckles to the world. But what really took away his breath was that she was in a blue dress, with gold sewn into the skirt, like stars in the sky. A dress that he most assuredly had not been paying attention to last time she’d worn it, but recognized all the same.

She was wearing her wedding dress—her _real_ wedding dress, the one he’d taken her in. She was looking right at him, big blue eyes half lidded—she knew what that did to him. She had to know, she was biting her lower lip and--   
“May I have this dance, princess?” He heard himself ask—and when had he gotten so close that he could almost see the flecks of .   
She grinned. “Of course, _sir Pendergast_.”

He swept her out into the dance floor, dimly aware that the musicians had only _just_ resumed playing.   
“You are going to be the death of me.” He growled into her ear.   
She laughed. “Hey, blame Bunty. She was the one who found the dress and said I should wear it.”   
“I don’t believe you.” Pendergast said bluntly, twirling her in the dance before pulling her close again.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and looked up at him. “Why do I feel like you’re going to _punish_ me?”   
“That depends, do you want to be punished?”   
Bean licked her lips. “Depends on the punishment.”   
Pendergast pulled his hand away from her waist, and ran his thumb over her lips, “ _Princess_ , give me one good reason why I shouldn’t whisk you away right now and _beg_ for the honor of making you scream my name over and over until you’re nothing but a slick, shuddering mess?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you were the one who said that people shouldn’t know about us?” Bean grinned as he quickly put his hand back down for the dance.  
“Irrelevant.” Pendergast said.   
Bean snorted. “Wow, this dress _really_ gets to you, huh?”   
“Not so much the dress itself. Just what it symbolizes.”   
Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on his shoulder. “And what does it _symbolize_?”   
“That you’re mine. That I’m yours. It’s just a _reminder_ , of course.”   
“…The music’s stopped.” She said, more loudly than the rest of the conversation.   
“Has it? It’ll start again soon.” Pendergast said, hands still on her.

Bean grinned at him. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to dance with other guys tonight, Pen.”   
“In _that_ dress?” Pendergast grinned back. “Are you sure?”   
He pulled her into another dance, whirling around the floor with other, more tentative couples.   
From the sidelines, Blodeuwedd, David and Alice watched, smiled, rolled their eyes, and ate from the stash of hors d’oeuvres.

Thomas paid them absolutely no attention, as he was entranced by Luke Dashley, who smiled back. Bruce, meanwhile, was swaying along to the music with a smile, occasionally engaging other people with storiesabut the Lemon Crusade (mostly Zog). Most of the suitors simply wrote it off as Pendergast currying favor, and while a nuisance, not an overt problem. Some, like Colt Abbott, tried to approach Zog, Derek, or Bean, but eventually retreated to a corner to commiserate.

But Odval watched Bean and Pendergast dance for a long, long time. Longer than it was appropriate for them to dance together, with no sign of it stopping. No sign of a woman off on the sidelines, annoyed and waiting for her turn with her husband. No sign of Pendergast—a man who, by all accounts, adored his wife—turning and dancing with another woman.

And Odval began to get a horrible feeling that he knew exactly who Pendergast’s wife was. After all, why would Pendergast look at the princess _like that_ , with that love and devotion, if there wasn’t more to it than professionalism? Why would she settle for ruining a marriage, when she could not (for once), and cause so much more mayhem, making fools of them all in front of the nation? For wrapping the military around her finger, at her beck and call? Oh, she was Dagmar’s daughter through and through. Sure, she smiled back at them. Sure, they looked happy. But, Odval considered that to be as much of a farce as that marriage, and he would prove it. He would fix it, before Tiabeanie destroyed them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently poplars symbolize resilience, independence, security, and new possibilities, and hopefulness (given Luke's favorite being the silver fir kind of poplar). 
> 
> Hors d'oeuvres and small tables to eat them at are historically inaccurate, but I'm pretty sure they've appeared in the show before.


	31. Elfo and Luci Hang Out in Hell

_“There was an old couple who lived near Hell… if they’re not dead, they’re living there still… The Devil he came to the man at the plough… ‘I’ve come for one of your family now.’ Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day…”_

Elfo woke, shivering, to the sounds of a violin drifting into the room. He looked around—was this all glass?   
_“’Which of me family do ye like best?’ ‘Your scolding old wife, tis she I like best.’ ‘Oh, take her away, with all’a me heart—and I hope the two of ye never need part.’ Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day…”_

It was downright… palatial, but this was obviously not Dreamland. Light—red coloured light, at that, streamed in through a window. Elfo approached it.

_“The devil he hoisted her onto his back, no peddler was ever so proud of his pack. He’s carried her off to the gates of Hell’s wall—she’s out with her boot and she’s flattened it all! Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day…”_

Outside was Hell. Actual, literal hell. Elfo shivered again, this time not really from the cold—but wait, why _was_ he cold? Why was his breath almost misty, like it had been for the past winter? He had not been able to _feel_ , necessarily, last time he was here, but he’d seen the fire, and the sweat on Bean’s brow. Luci’s short fur made more sense than ever as well, but this… he hesitantly touched the windowsill, and then immediately withdrew his hand from the burning cold.

_“Some devils came down to put her in a sack; she’s out with her boot and she’s broken their backs! The devils cried out from up on the wall; ‘take her back daddy, she’ll murder us all!’ Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day…”_

Luci—where was Luci?! And who the hell—was that even appropriate to say anymore? Whatever—who was _singing_ that song? Maybe they knew—bad people didn’t sing, right?

Speaking of bad people, how had Elfo… gotten here? All he could remember was that blond man… and then… then darkness, with snatches of conversation.

“What the hell… to Elfo?!”   
“Mortal souls… being down here. …be fine, we… soul back in.”   
“When… wake up?”   
“Soon.”

Well, now he was awake, and no one else was around but the singer, so Elfo drew himself up to his full height (of 3 feet, 2 inches), and walked towards the door, which he realized was slightly ajar. Fine. He bundled his hat around his hand to pry it open, and walked down a hallway. He had half expected more ice—everything in the room he’d just left seemed to be made of it, after all, but this… this was lined with rich tapestries.

_“The devil returned in a tenth of the time. ‘Take her back farmer, I’m changing my mind.’ ‘Oh, what’ll you give me for takin’ her in?’ ‘I offer no more than the wages of sin.’ Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day…”_

Elfo had _seen_ tapestries before, of course. They were rugs that depicted stories, mostly about Zog. Simple. Except… these ones looked almost… _real_. And they shifted when he wasn’t looking, cycling through different… he wanted to say stories. They were almost unending, the hallway stretching on and on forever… Elfo shook himself. He wasn’t going to get lost in the stories, not now. The voice was still singing, and it sounded like the song was ending.

_“’If you want to be rid of this scolding old hen, you’ll never bedevil my family again.’ Oh, the devil did cry, and the devil did howl—ah, but he never returned to the man at the plough. Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day. ‘Well I’ve been a devil for most of me life—but I ne’er was in hell ‘til I met with your wife!’ Whack-fol-day-follickity-fol-a-dol-day, whack-fol-day-follickity fol a dol day!”_

He saw a door, amidst all of the tapestries, and hesitantly pushed it open. A relative last of hea hit him, feeling a lot more like Dreamland in summer than… whatever that had been.

Inside, curled up next to a roaring fire, was Luci, dozing in a cat bed.

And him. The man who brought them there. He was delicately placing a violin back on the mantel, his back turned to Elfo. Maybe he could just grab Luci, and run…

Carefully, Elfo stepped inside, and tried to make his way to Luci.   
“Good, you’re up!” The man said, turning suddenly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to stuff a soul back into a body, I was beginning to worry.”   
“Stuffed a soul back into a body…?” Elfo repeated, backing up slightly.   
The man nodded absent-mindedly, before collapsing onto a nearby sofa. “Yes. You should probably be resting for the next few days. Did you like my singing?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Elfo said, glancing at Luci, who cracked open one eye. “Good to see you up and running, dingus.”   
“Luci, what are you doing just lying there?!” Elfo hissed.   
“Relaxing, duh.” Luci stretched himself like a cat. “Boss over there hasn’t really reinstated my _demon_ status yet.”   
“I’ve always wanted a cat.” The man said—wait, no. That wasn’t a man. Wasn’t that the Devil himself? Capital _D_ Devil, Capital _S_ Satan?

Whatever he was, he was watching Elfo expectantly. What was Elfo supposed to say to that?   
“So… are you going to take us home?” Elfo finally asked.   
The man—the _Devil_ —tensed, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. “No.”

“What? Why?” Elfo asked.

“It’s not safe there.” The Devil looked away, fiddling with a ring on his finger.

“ _What_?”   
The Devil finally looked at him. “Well… not for Luci. And really, not for you, and didn’t you want to stay with your friend?”   
Elfo was all too aware that Luci was watching him expectantly.

“Of course I want to stay with my friend! I want to stay with all of my friends, and most of them are in Dreamland. Take us back!”

“I can’t.” The Devil said.   
“Can’t, or won’t?” Luci asked lazily. Elfo glanced at him, and the demon was playing with his tail absentmindedly, but given how much _focus_ was in his eyes, Elfo assumed that the nonchalance was fake.   
“Can’t, because there’s nothing there for you.” The Devil said firmly.   
Elfo felt the previous cold creep up the back of his neck. “Wh-what do you mean? How long have I been unconscious?!”

“About five minutes.” Luci huffed. “Calm down, drama queen.”   
The Devil leaned back on the sofa, steepling his fingers. “I’m happy to explain my reasoning, if you want.”   
Elfo bit his tongue to keep from screaming, and nodded.   
“I am… not a God.” The Devil began slowly. “I am essential for the workings of _stories_ , since I am the villain. I am always the villain. But there are beings more powerful than me—beings who created _worlds_ out of the stories that rule us all. And their power may be waning, but they are still intensely powerful.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Elfo asked.   
The Devil inhaled sharply. “Okay, so there are Gods, which are more powerful than me. Got that?”   
“Yeah, but I don’t get the story stuff.”   
“That’s unimportant here.” The Devil said. “The point is, most Gods have… gone underground, so to speak. They’re removed from the situation. Not in Dreamland.”

“Dreamland is a God?” Elfo asked skeptically.   
“Dreamland _has_ a God.” The Devil corrected. “Something old, something that was, until very recently, asleep. But asleep is not dead, and that God has little tolerance for demons in its vicinity. It’s _dangerous_ for any demon to be near it, and I can only expect you’ve been spared so far—both of you, you for associating with him—because you’ve somehow lost your demon status.”

“Oh… you don’t… know about that?” Elfo grimaced, glancing at Luci.   
Luci glared back at him. “It’s none of his fucking business, so don’t go blabbing.”   
“Maybe you’ll tell me in time.” The Devil said. “But… my point is, I refuse to leave any of my itty-bitty baby demons to get crushed. Or drowned. Or… well, I don’t really want to remember what happened to the last demon I sent into Dreamland. Suffice to say, I wouldn’t risk even my most powerful lieutenants in Dreamland—by my home, I wouldn’t go there _myself_ if I didn’t have to!”

“Wait, are you saying Luci’s a baby?” Elfo asked.   
“Hrrmpf.” Luci muttered to himself.   
“Demons don’t really age the way that mortals do.” The Devil said gently. “Oh, I have no doubt that he has all the sensibilities of an adult, and carries himself thusly, but we refer to power as an age sort of thing once you get up high enough. After all, your friend is, on a similar power level to us, a baby.”

“Luci’s a baby…” Elfo repeated blankly.   
“Just in terms of power.” The Devil said quickly, glancing at Luci. “He… well, there are shortcuts to ‘growing up’, of course, but a lot of level one demons have to take the long way around and store it up over time, and I’ve taken to calling them babies.”

“Why?” Elfo asked.   
“I like babies.” The Devil said simply. “I don’t really see them that often. I considered putting the ones I _did_ get in a zoo, but Asmodeus said that would be incredibly rude, so I sort of just store them in an eternal ballpit instead.”   
Elfo didn’t really have time to process that, before there was a ringing sound. The Devil stood, and cracked his neck. “Stay here, new friends! It’s nice and toasty, and I don’t want you getting into trouble while I’m busy with work, okay? I’ll give you a tour later.”

And then he left.   
Elfo rushed over to Luci. “

And then he left.   
Elfo rushed over to Luci. “Come on, we gotta go.”   
“Um, why?” Luci asked, tail twitching in annoyance. “We’ve got it _made_ here.”   
“Luci!” Elfo hissed. “You know why!”   
Luci turned over in his cat bed. “Even if I _wanted_ to help you abandon me, I can’t. Asmodeus caught us last time, remember? I don’t really have another way out.”

“You’ll find one! You’re great at finding stuff!”   
“Yeah, but I’m not really _motivated_.” Luci flopped onto his back, and gazed at Elfo.   
“Bean could be in trouble, and that’s not enough motivation for you?!” Elfo hissed.   
“Relax, it’s only been five minutes, and she has Knight Captain Dicknose to help her out. Why does she need us?” Luci said airily. His tail was still twitching.

“Because we’re her _friends_ , Luci.” Elfo begged. “Both of us. And I don’t want to have to choose between you.”   
“If you did,” Luci began, still so very carefully nonchalant. “Who’d you choose? I mean, I know the obvious answer, but I want to see if you’re as big of a moron as I think you are.”   
“Luci, I’m not choosing.” Elfo said stubbornly.

“Not what I asked. There is no middle ground.” Luci snapped.   
“Yes, there is! God, sometimes you make me so-so… it’s not _you_ against the world! It’s _us_ , together, against it!”   
Luci snickered, but it sounded more sad than mirthful. “Wow, you really have no idea how the world works, huh? Lemme break it down for you; you’re a happy little elf, and now all of your elf pals are in Dreamland! You can hang out with them _every day_. Bean? She’s a princess, and even better, she’s _married_. She’s got a whole _family_ now from Pendickgast. But me? I’m a demon. We don’t last long anywhere but here.”

“That’s not _true_ , and you know it.”   
“Poor, sad, _pathetic_ little Elfo.” Luci spat, curling in on himself, though poking his face out slightly to glare at Elfo. “You don’t get it at all, do you? She’s replaced us.”   
“You’re wrong, and—you are insufferable!” Elfo exploded. “You’re the most cynical, angry fucker I’ve ever met, and you keep trying to hide your problems like that will make it go away! Being a jerk doesn’t make people like you—and you know that! I’m not going to leave you, but I’m not going to leave her either, so you’ll just have to accept that love is not a finite resource!”

“What, you love me? Nerd.” Luci scoffed. “…but… fine. Whatever. I mean, the Devil’s kind of a loser, so I’ll help you bust out.”   
“And you’ll come back with me?”   
“…I mean, I _guess_ I need to take care of my bar.”   
Elfo pulled Luci into a hug. He tensed, but then settled, leaning his head on Elfo’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a habit of it.”

They continued in relatively companionable silence, until—there were shouts in the corridor, and the door opened—but somehow, Elfo, and Luci found themselves falling into a ballpit. The Devil was bobbing amongst them with a smug grin, as well as a very familiar looking demon.

“What are we doing here?” Elfo asked.   
“This is where I store my babies!” The Devil said proudly.   
“The few babies that come to Hell, yes—wait a fucking second! You’re two out of—wait, where’s the other one?!” The demon demanded. Ah. This was the one who had been handling their (well, Elfo thought the kindest term was ‘prison break’) incident last time they’d been there.

Elfo waved.   
“She’s not here, dickweed.” Luci spat, swimming through the balls. “Thanks for bringing it up.”   
The demon—Asmodium? Asmodeus, that was it—looked at the Devil, who still looked like he was annoyed and going to make it everyone else’s problem. “What are they doing here?”

“This is where I store my babies.” The Devil repeated. “They’re my friends, and I wanted them to see. Besides, doesn’t everybody love the baby pit?”   
Asmodeus’ face implied that he did not like the baby pit at all, but that this was a sticking point betwixt him and the Devil anyway.

“Oh, yeah, I love the baby pit.” Luci said, which seemed mostly like it was to bother Asmodeus.   
Asmodeus passed a hand—a claw?—in front of his face. “No, Sam. What are they doing _here_? They kind of seemed like they weren’t coming back, last I checked.”

The Devil sank into his ball-pit. “I found them in Dreamland.”   
“Oh.” Asmodeus said.   
“Our friend is the princess of Dreamland.” Elfo said. “We’re okay.”   
“I mean, you almost died. A lot. You _did_ die.” Luci pointed out.

“Yeah but that’s not—it wasn’t some great god thing doing that. It was just Zog, and his knights.” Elfo replied.   
“That’s because it’s _sleeping_. But I don’t want anyone there when it wakes up.” The Devil said, before fixing a smile on his face and diving deeper into the ball pit. Asmodeus, for his part, settled for watching Luci and Elfo like a hawk, remaining almost entirely still otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song the Devil is playing on his violin is 'The Devil and The Farmer's Wife'. Specifically the version by Alexander James, though I don't think he's recorded a new version since he's transitioned.


	32. The Founding of the David Griffiths Protection Squad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STARRING 
> 
> Sir Pendergast Llewellyn Griffiths AS the Shining Knight  
> Blodeuwedd Ceridwen Griffiths AS the Lilac Girl  
> Thomas Taliesin Griffiths AS the Ruddy Man  
> Alice Rose Griffiths nee Broderick AS the Black-Haired Girl  
> Tiabeanie Mariabeanie de la Rochambeau Grunkwitz AS the White Princess  
> Dagmar Delilah Imogene de la Rochambeau AS the White Queen  
> David Matthew Griffiths AS The Nameless Man/the Pretending Boy  
> ?????????????????????? as (spoilers)
> 
> HONORABLE MENTIONS TO  
> Odval [REDACTED] AS The Cursed Blessed Dwlaa-Aiat-Uma Vizier  
> Lynette Elaine Griffiths nee Pendergast AS the HarridanWitchDaughterStealingBitch  
> Bunty (Bunty) AS the Round Matron  
> Lucas Abraham Dashley AS the Tan Man  
> [REDACTED] Griffiths Grunkwitz AS the parasite
> 
> AND INTRODUCING  
> Chaddeus Petrichor Aurelius Evans IX, heir to Twinkletown, second cousin of the Griffiths mentioned AS The Purple Man

They had been given _special dispensation_ to watch the Races of the Aboveground, and report back to the White Queen. (She had said it like it was a privilege, but the Aboveground was Bright and Loud and Crowded and it was not a privilege at all.)

At the moment, they were mostly watching the Shining Knight—and for once, he wasn’t watching the White Princess with… not quite possessiveness, not quite hunger. He was, as when he was usually not looking at her, pretending that he didn’t care, when he obviously did. (The Shining Knight was funny like that.)

He was also arguing with a man in rich purple fabric. It had gone like this;  
“Cyfarchion i chi, Pendergast.” The Purple Man said, stuttering over the flowing words the way that the Shining Knight didn’t.  
“Chaddeus.” The Shining Knight raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”  
“Well, I just wanted to know why I am next to your brother.”

“Because it’s sorted alphabetically, and House Hayford doesn’t have any sons?” The Shining Knight tried.  
“But I’m an _Evans_ , Pendergast.”  
“Yes? An Ifans.”

“With an _E_.” The Purple Man snapped. “I’m the heir to Twinkletown, I’m not some border-guarding sheep-stealer.”  
The Shining Knight narrowed his eye. “Chaddeus, what do you want? Because I’m getting very impatient, the kind of impatient where you might take a sword to the hamstring if you’re not quick about it.”  
“You’d threaten me?!” The Purple Man bleated.  
“I’m not discounting it.” The Shining Knight agreed.

“I came to make you an offer. You’ll be a rich man, Pendergast.”  
“Ah, even if I’m a ‘border-guarding sheep-stealer’?” The Shining Knight looked very uninterested in riches, and far more interested in doing violence upon the Purple Man.  
“Well, that can’t be helped.” The Purple Man continued obliviously. “But first, I need to be moved away from the… poorer houses… and in my rightful alphabetical place.”

“Is that all?”  
“No—this is the part that shall make you rich. This is all just a farce. Everyone knows I’m supposed to marry the princess—what, is she going to marry… Bruce Austin, with his unknown heritage? Thomas, with his predilections? The Parkins boy, with his lack of money? I have it all, Pendergast. I am going to be the Duke of Twinkletown one day—and _obviously_ they want the princess to marry well. Who but me could _really_ marry her?”  
“Chaddeus, the point?” The Shining Knight growled.

“Ah… I may need your help. Blod-Blood- your sister, she can help, if you need. For now, you could just… place stones, I suppose, or disqualify people. Let me win.”  
The Shining Knight stared at him. “You want me to help you cheat?”  
“It’s not _cheating_ —it’s helping me play the part in this farce that is meant to be played!” The Purple Man squawked. “I’m supposed to win, we all know it!”  
“We really don’t.”

“I’ll pay you. Lots of lovely gold.”  
“I don’t want your money, Chaddeus.”  
“What then? I’ll get it—on account of you being _family_. Gems? Family? Women?”  
Then the Purple Man was flying through the air, landing on his back.

“What’s wrong with you!?” The Purple Man screamed, touching a hand to his bloodied face.  
“Nothing. _I_ didn’t just get myself disqualified from this, after all-- unlike you.”  
“Wh— _disqualified_?!”  
“It is generally considered treason to try to bribe the Captain of the Guard, but I’ll let it slide this once. On account of you being _family_.” The Shining Knight shrugged.

Then they began to argue in earnest, words (insults) flying so fast that the watcher (for that was their job right now, to watch) could not keep up with them. Words hurt, and the Shining Knight was as violent as the White Queen. The watcher was not interested in watching him anymore—the Lilac Girl and the Ruddy Man were interfering anyway, ant the watcher didn’t trust them. The Ruddy Man smelled of poison—and lilac _was_ poison, in a way. Too much of it and you’d die, no matter how pretty it was. (Their hair burned like better things but that was a _lie_.)

The White Princess was looking ill. Her hands were on her knees as she took deep breaths, and an inky-haired girl rubbed her back. The White Queen would want to know about this.  
“Is it nerves?” The girl asked, soft and sweet. But the watcher would not be tempted, no. Lilacs smelled sweet, and _that_ girl was poison. Mead smelled sweet, but it was poison all the same. The watcher knew—they _knew_ —that there was poison all throughout the White Princess and the Shining Knight. It had spread from Dagmar’s touch to the girl, and then it had spread so so far.

They didn’t trust the People, no they didn’t.  
“It’s not nerves.” The White Princess broke the watcher from their reverie. “It’s _not_ —it’s just not any worse than before, and that was fine. That was great! I can do it again, I just…” The White Princess took another series of deep breaths.

“What is it then?” The Black-Haired Girl asked, rubbing circles into her back now instead of random patterns.  
“Ugh, my stomach feels like I’ve been binging for a week…” The White Princess moaned.  
“Maybe some mint tea for your nerves?”  
“No.” The White Princess laughed mirthlessly. “Fuck, I’ve been drinking so much pennyroyal that it smells like normal mint at this point.”

“Oh, you’ve been…? Well, it can’t be a pregnancy, then.” The girl said.  
“Can’t.” The White Princess agreed. “I’ve—we’ve been careful.”  
(Not careful enough. Nowhere _near_ careful enough. The watcher thought that, long ago, they might have been the one to bring the White Queen the letter that made her switch the herbs. But—even if there was poison in the White Queen’s touch, babies were exempt from it. Weren’t they? It was so fuzzy…)

They were jolted back to their thoughts by a horn. The Purple Man had been disposed of—the work of the Cursed Blessed Dwlaa-Aiat-Uma Vizier, who got more epithets because he was an enigma, but was respected (useful) to the White Queen. In his own way. He was just as scared of her though, which just seemed to be sense. He had disposed of the Purple Man with little fuss, smoothing over the anger of the Shining Knight. The Purple Man would be gone, soon enough—and oh, the race was starting.

This wasn’t like the last race. They had not been _looking_ , they had not _seen_ , and now, now the White Princess was going to lose. Now, the watcher didn’t fully understand any of this, but they were sure that the White Princess wasn’t meant to lose. The word ‘married’ had been bandied about a lot, but she was with the Shining Knight. She looked at him with the same possessive-hunger-concern that he looked at her with, when they thought no one was looking. (The watcher was always looking, and if not them, then someone else.)

The White Princess seemed to realize that she was going to lose, that she just wasn’t fast enough. She didn’t _push_ herself harder—she _pulled_ , and the Earth _bent_. What had been a 50 meter track was pulled, down down down. But, she wasn’t as good at this sort of thing as the White Queen yet. (The White Queen didn’t move the Earth, but that wasn’t the watcher’s business, no.) The White Princess had pulled and bent the track for _everyone_. And so, the watcher _helped_.

A tiny foot, where no one would see it, tripped a man before he could cross. There. Done. The White Princess won, and no one seemed to have realized that she tried to _cheat_. Not even her.  
But then, wasn’t what the watcher had done cheating?  
No, it couldn’t be, because they belonged to the White Queen and the White Princess and the thing making the White Princess feel sick to her stomach. (Parasite?) So, it wasn’t cheating, it was _helping_. It was. It had to be.

The White Princess couldn’t be swept up by the Shining Knight, but he watched her all the same, smiling, until she bent double and vomited. _Then_ , she was ‘escorted home by her bodyguard’, despite her protests that she was _fine_. The Lilac Girl and the Black-Haired Girl made to follow, before the Shining Knight said no firmly, that this was castle business.

“So you’d let that warlock you don’t let near your own men treat the princess?!” The Lilac Girl hissed.  
“If anyone cares, I’m actually _fine_.” The White Princess said. “Pen…dergast, stop looking like you’re going to throw me over your shoulder and hide me in my room.”

“If, for example, you’ve been poisoned, you should be removed from the area immediately and put somewhere _safe_ while you’re checked by a professional!” The Shining Knight argued, tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment as he failed to deny that yes, he was going to try and hide her away from the world.  
The White Princess scoffed. “I’m not _poisoned_. I didn’t eat or drink anything since last night.”  
This did not seem to alleviate the Shining Knight’s concerns. If anything, he became even more fussy.

The Black-Haired Girl gently laid a hand on the White Princess’ shoulder. “Perhaps, you should lie down for a bit, just to soothe Sir Pendergast’s nerves. I’m sure he’s very upset about the actions of his cousin, and would like some time to know that you, his _charge_ , are alright. That being said, I think you would enjoy a cup of ginger tea to settle your stomach. Maybe add some honey.”

“Ginger?” The Lilac Girl asked. “I don’t believe I’ve had that.”  
The Black-Haired Girl ducked her head. “It’s imported… I… she’s a princess, if anyone has access to ginger it’s her, right? Dreamland has a lot of maritime trade, and I just thought…”  
“Alice, breathe.” The White Princess said. “I’ll try it. Bunty’ll know about it, right?”  
(The watcher was aware that the Black-Haired Girl didn’t know the Round Matron, but still, she calmed and nodded softly.)

The Black-Haired Girl indeed had great power, for the White Princess left for the castle, and only shoved the Shining Knight lightly when he had suggested he carry her. (The watcher was _well aware_ it had not been a joke of his, but her treating it as such made him smile slightly, crookedly, instead of flying into a rage like at the Purple Man. The White Queen never said what to do if the Shining Knight should raise a hand to the White Princess. After all, according to the White Queen, love—that was the word they’d been looking for, wasn’t it?—meant pain. She wanted the White Princess to _suffer_ , the watcher knew this. And yet, the White Queen said that she loved her daughter so very much.)

Meanwhile, the Lilac Girl convinced the Black-Haired Girl to write letters to home. Given that the Lilac Girl was (as garnered from lots of spying) the daughter of the HarridanWitchDaughterStealingBitch as the White Queen screamed, (and given that there was no better name for her currently) the watcher _knew_ that the White Queen would want to know the content of that letter. And possibly the other one.

So, after the girls had written letters, and darkness had fallen, the watcher slipped into the tent, and stole them—never realizing, at the time of course, that someone had been watching, and had seen them steal away.

The White Queen, of course, took great delight in reading the letters. Lilac Girl’s letter had gone as such,

‘Annwyl Mum,

Thomas ran today, but it was really more of a stroll than anything. He winked at some boy in the crowd, and crossed the finish line dead last. Not that anyone really noticed, since Bean was throwing up. Penny was worried she’d been poisoned, but apparently she hadn’t bothered to have breakfast, or anything to drink. (This didn’t stop Penny from fussing.)

Alice actually had a brilliant idea—there’s this herb spice thing, imported from India called ‘sinsir’ or something like that. Helps with fussy stomachs, and apparently with making Penny piss off and fuss somewhere else.

(Don’t worry, I checked on her later. She seemed like she was doing well, and Penny was ‘caring for her as a guard charged with her care would’, which meant that he was pretending that he hadn’t been hovering when anyone knocked on the door. Penny has still been keeping their marriage a secret, can you believe that? I think, for all that she hated the fact that he was fussing, Bean liked that she was being fussed over simply because he cared. I don’t think anyone had really done that before.) ‘

The watcher didn’t really listen as the White Queen moved onto the parts about the Ruddy Man and the Tan Man discussing various things at the ball the previous day, and the part about the Purple Man getting knocked from his feet (which the Lilac Girl approved of).

Then the White Queen read the Black-Haired Girl’s letter.

‘Dearest Mother and Father,

I regret that I haven’t written so far. I have been traveling with David, and he has been very kind to me. Please rest assured that we married the night that we fled, in a small church but no less godly than a cathedral. Please know that I only do so with the help of Blodeuwedd, my now cousin by marriage.

We are currently in Dreamland’s capital, where there is a huge gathering of houses for the princess’ hand. While David and his cousins displayed admirable knowledge of them, I confess that I was intimidated when I first saw the veritable sea of people. How easy it would be to get lost in them! Indeed, I spoke to Sir Pendergast, Blodeuwedd’s brother, and he confessed that trying to keep track of everyone here will likely give him gray hairs while he is young, if the princess herself does not do so first.

While the fair is likely to end within a week, hopefully with a husband of the princess’ own choosing, David and I may not come home immediately. Indeed, I was wondering if I might throw myself upon your mercy, and show him the treasures of Bentwood, before we resume our travels? I understand completely if you do not want to see me, or if I have brought shame upon the family. I am sorry for running away, and spoiling the wedding you wanted for me. I’m sorry for not telling you.’

“Oh, there’s _tear marks_ on the paper.” The White Queen cackled, before continuing.

‘But I cannot be sorry for it being David. Please know that the fault of our flight lies squarely with me. Also, please know that I have found Prince Merkimer to be doing well, and he accompanied me to the grave that Prince Guysbert was lying in. It’s not much, just a hole dug outside the city limits by the knights when Sir Pendergast wanted them to have something to do, before the frost set in and made the ground unworkable. It has a little wooden cross, and Merkimer and I brought flowers, which was made easier by my hands, as Merkimer pointed out. I’m not sure whether he meant my skill with plants, or that I simply had hands to begin with, but I am proud to say that they looked very nice as we put them down. Please give my best to Sir Corian, and tell him that Guysbert seems to be at peace.

Love from  
Alice Griffiths nee Broderick.’

And then the White Queen had a vicious, evil smile. “Someone bring me a bit of paper and a quill.” And she wrote down something, before folding it and slipping it into the Black-Haired Girl’s envelope.  
“Reseal these, and make sure that _that_ one is sent post-haste. After all, it wouldn’t do for that nasty little blockade in the forest to slow it down, would it?” The White Queen purred. “But don’t let the little masquerade slip—put them back for now, and mess with the mail when they’re officially sent tomorrow.”

They, and their siblings, agreed. What else could they do?  
The watcher (the thief, the cheater) took the resealed letters back. This time, they noticed the open eyes of the one person they least expected. Not the Ruddy Man, or the Lilac Girl, with their wrong-wrong-not-human-all-the-way-blood, not the Black-Haired Girl who knew the quiet and darkness and when it wasn’t right, but simply… the boy. The normal, human man, one they hadn’t even chosen an epithet for.

“Why have you got those?” The Nameless Man narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were a thief, but you brought them back.”  
They were being quiet now, both of them. “The White Queen wanted them.” The watcher’s voice was hoarse. When was the last time they’d used it?  
“I saw you earlier today too—you tripped that man.”  
“The White Princess would have wanted it.”

“…so the princess isn’t your _white queen_.” The Nameless Man hissed. “Is Dagmar back?”  
The watcher squeaked in fear. “Don’t hurt me, please!”  
“Hurt you?”  
“ _Please_!” The watcher begged. The White Queen liked it when you begged, maybe she’d make it quick.  
The Nameless Man raised his hand, and the watcher flinched but… the Nameless Boy simply patted their head.

“Thank you for telling me.” The Nameless Man said, and the watcher realized that he was… he was young. He was young, and he’d been playing at being old. The Pretending Boy—because that’s what he was, really—was gently rubbing their head, and the watcher had never been more confused in their life.  
“Thank you for bringing back Alice’s letter… thank you for not having me be crazy, and imagining you.”  
“I… what’s an imagine?”

“It’s… when I was younger, my cousins and I would pretend that we were great heroes. And then… and then Penny was, and Thomas wasn’t, and I… I wasn’t much of anything. And then Alice and I dreamed that we could see the world, but I still wasn’t enough. Thank you for letting me be the special one, but… not the kind of special where it’s just me wanting to be more important than I really am.”  
The watcher considered this, then nodded. They could understand imagines then, if that’s what they were. Wanting to believe something was true, but not to question yourself.

Gently, they reached out and tapped the Pretending Boy’s hand, trying to mimic the pat he gave them. The kindness that no one had really shown before. (They would have to go back and teach their siblings.)  
“She read them.” The watcher admitted. “She liked the Black-Haired Girl’s letter.”  
“Who read them?”  
“The White Queen.”

“…why did she like Alice’s letter?” The Pretending Boy demanded.  
“I don’t know. It was about how sorry she was she ran away. She wanted to go stay with them.”  
The Pretending Boy froze. “Does she… regret it that much?”  
The watcher shrugged. “You can read it if you want.”

“I… no. I trust Alice, but… I’ll ask. I’ll not keep her against her will.” The Pretending Boy said.  
The watcher liked that. The Pretending Boy didn’t scare them the way that the Ruddy Man and the Shining Knight did. He wasn’t mired in sweet scents and sweet actions to hide the smell of poison.

“What’s your name?” The watcher asked, because they knew this was important to People.  
“David, David Griffiths. What’s yours?”  
“I don’t have a name.” The watcher said very patiently. “I’m not a person.”  
“You are—you’re talking to me. You care.” David David Griffiths paused, then said, “You can be Maredudd. That was my grandfather’s name. I was going to give it to our first son, but… I won’t keep her if she doesn’t want me.”

Maredudd. The watcher had a name now. No one had ever given them anything, much less a name and a pat on the head. “David David Griffiths, if you are ever in this city and need help, I will come.”  
“How will I summon you?” David David Griffiths asked, but the wat— _Maredudd_ was already gone, slipping back to the shadows and the White Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh: 
> 
> Cyfarchion i chi -- Greetings to you (Chaddeus learned one (1) phrase on the fly to put Pen in a better mood)  
> Sinsir-- it's actually the Welsh term for ginger 
> 
> 'Dwlaa-Aiat-Uma' is a Maruvian term I made up for the three-eyed people (like Odval). In my lore, they have generally had a high place in government, because when they are born, it is considered a 'blessing', for they are considered a gift... to specifically help the royal family and guide them to glory. Given how the Royal Family of Maru is renown for being cursed half the time, it's kind of a mixed bag of reception (though Maruvians will of course give them as much respect as possible in front of them). However, ~this is not relevant to Bean's journey~ (because Odval kind of hates her in particular, viewing her much like the not-elves do as an extension of Dagmar). So where did I get the term from? 
> 
> It's a cipher. For 'Three-Eyed-One'.


	33. Hey, that's not Bean and Pen!

In a perfect world, Sir Corian Veint of Bentwood would have never had the dishonor of sitting pretty at home while members of the royal family—the boys he raised, trained himself—fell in a foreign land. 

It’s not that he resented Pendergast Griffiths for doing his job—it wasn’t the lad’s fault he’d been born on the wrong side of the border, and so became loyal to the bitch who killed Guysbert and her stupid father. Hopefully, the lad would _take a hint_ when they moved—and that was when Lord Matthew Broderick had burst into his office and interrupted his reverie. 

He didn’t dislike Lord Broderick, but it’s not as though he often saw him.   
“Can I help you?” Sir Corian asked.   
Lord Broderick faltered. “I… my daughter wrote. To me and her mother.”   
Sir Corian tilted his head. He hadn’t really given much thought to Alice Broderick since her friendship with Guysbert had been forcibly ended, and last he’d heard, the girl was married. Wasn’t there some minor scandal about that? 

“…and?” Sir Corian finally asked.   
Lord Broderick handed him a letter. Sir Corian read it once. Then twice. Slowly, he looked at Lord Broderick. “She married… Pendergast Griffiths’ cousin?”   
“I… yes? I was more concerned with the addendum— who is Pendergast Griffiths?”   
Sir Corian looked at the letter. “He’s my Dreamland counterpart.” 

The addendum, as Lord Broderick called it, was more precisely, information about Dreamland currently not watching the borders as closely as he’d believed. About how easy it would be to slip someone in, and then… it would be a good plan. The letter itself lent credence to the idea, wrapped in the words of a sweet girl who didn’t understand how it could be taken. However…   
“The letter is in a different hand.” Sir Corian said. “It could be false. A trick.” 

“No, the letter—that’s Alice. And she’s a good girl.”   
“Says here she ran away.”   
“And she’s _sorry_. She… she was close with the late Prince. I just thought…” Lord Broderick swallowed.   
“I believe she’s telling the truth, but I don’t think she knows the consequences. The… addendum… worries me.” Sir Corian said, because he had to be thinking of _what could go wrong_ , instead of just excited for the prospect of revenge. 

You couldn’t trust Dreamland, after all. Not anymore. 

Lord Broderick nodded. “I understand.”   
“You may have the letter back. The addendum has all the relevant information, laid out plainly.” Sir Corian slid the envelope back towards Lord Broderick. “I must see the king and queen to authorize this sort of mission.”   
Lord Broderick paled—he was a soft merchant’s son, not hardened steel like Corian himself—and left with a deep bow. 

Sir Corian waited until he’d been gone a respectable amount of time, then left his office, trying to force himself to a more casual pace. It would do no good for him to be seen running about, getting excited at his age. This sort of thing needed more decorum.   
He knocked gently upon the door to the throne room, and waited to be named so that he could enter. 

“…hero of the Battle of Aarne Hill, Forger of the Great Sword that Broke the Back of the Land Viking Army—”   
“Yes, yes, get on with it.” Lorenzo called impatiently.   
With a bow, Sir Corian was shown in. 

“What do you want?” Lorenzo I was sitting on the Great Wooden Throne, built into the walls and floor. After all, they had once been part of the same massive tree—the same tree that formed most of the castle to this day, dead though it was. Lorenzo, however, had covered the hardwood floor with tiling, the great throne with silks and velvet. Bunny was sat next to him, as usual, in a small, temporary looking sort of chair. 

Lorry sat on the floor, near Bunny, discretely out of his father’s vision as he played with a wooden knight. The same wooden knight that his brothers had played with at his age. One day, God willing, _this_ one would live to become Lorenzo II… but for the moment, he was simply Lorry. 

“Your Majesties.” Sir Corian bowed. “I bring news from Dreamland.”   
“What sort of news?” Lorenzo demanded.   
“Ah… possible ways for revenge.” Sir Corian said.   
“Whatever would we need _revenge_ for?” Bunny asked vapidly, though her eyes glittered with fierce interest. 

“Exactly, my pet. What _would_ we need revenge for?” Lorenzo yawned.   
“I… it would be a small force, your majesty. A princess for your sons…”   
“Don’t think to tell me what to do!” Lorenzo hissed. “I’m the king!”   
“Of course, sire.” Sir Corian nodded.   
“And besides, they were _my_ sons.” Lorenzo added petulantly. “You shouldn’t mourn them any more than me.” 

Sir Corian mumbled platitudes through gritted teeth, not that Lorenzo noticed. While they may have come from Lorenzo’s seed, Corian himself viewed himself as more of a father to them. He had raised them. He had taught them how to wield swords. 

And little Lorry… Corian sincerely doubted that he was Lorenzo’s seed to begin with. He was smarter than Guysbert at that age, though just as full of wonder. In Corian’s heart, he knew that if there was the slightest hint that Lorenzo might use that little boy up and throw him away like the others, make him callous and cruel the way he had molded Merkimer into his own image… Corian would not be held responsible. But for now, the only thing he could do was potentially avenge his boys against the princess of Dreamland. If he put it all on her… 

“—wasting my time with all of this.” Lorenzo grumped.   
“Wait!” Bunny said, tapping her chin as though she was trying to remember something. “Wasn’t there that funny little king… where was he from again? Why not get revenge on him?”   
“That was _Zog_.” Lorenzo ground out. “The one whose daughter refused to marry the boys—womb’s probably rotten anyway, everyone knows Dagmar was a witch…”   
“Oh, her!” Bunny blinked innocently. “I forgot about her. Well, if we get rid of her, won’t we get revenge on the funny little king man?” 

“We’re not getting revenge on anyone!” Lorenzo hissed. “We’ve wasted too much time on Dreamland anyway! You’re not getting your sons back, _stupid_ woman! Now look what you’ve done, you’ve worn me out with your yammering. Corian, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid with the baby. I’m going to go take a nap.”   
“Of course, my king.” Sir Corian bowed again, and moved aside so that the king could leave. Once the door shut behind them, Bunny moved to the throne. Her words would have weight now. 

Bunny— _Queen Bernice—_ changed entirely, the vapid façade falling away. Unlike Lorenzo, she sat tall in the chair. A true queen.   
“I know you wouldn’t come to me with nothing, Corian.”   
“No, my queen. I have received knowledge that would make it easy for us to infiltrate Dreamland.”   
“What are you proposing?” 

“A light strike team. Kill the princess and retrieve Merkimer.” Corian said.   
In the corner, Lorry slammed his soldier into the floor and squawked happily.   
“You do realize that we cannot claim responsibility for this.” Queen Bernice drummed her fingers on the throne’s warped arms. “I will not risk Bentwood in a war, no matter how much she deserves it.” 

“I understand completely. My lady, I would never do anything that might risk you or the young prince.”   
She glanced at the child. Dark hair hung in unruly curls—but the shade was one that had never been on Lorenzo. Incidentally, Corian in his youth had had a shade and texture of hair very similar to the young prince’s. Other details matched them as well, not that Lorenzo ever seemed to have noticed. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose you either.”   
“My queen…” Sir Corian bit his tongue in annoyance with himself. She wasn’t _his_. “Your Majesty, I need to do this.” Because it wasn’t as though he hadn’t looked at Merkimer and Guysbert and wondered if maybe, possibly, they might not be Lorenzo’s seed either. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t loved her, wanted her, _had_ her, back before she ever became Lorenzo’s queen, and since. 

“Why you?”   
Because he needed to avenge his sons, even if they weren’t his in blood.   
“Because I need to make sure it’s done right. It needs to be men we trust with… with the kingdom, if nothing else. Men who would die to right this wrong, who would die before betraying us to Dreamland. Hardened warriors.” 

“How many?”   
“Off the top of my head—and counting myself? Five. I need to leave some to protect you, after all.”   
Queen Bernice gave him a smile. “I don’t need protecting, Corian.” _There’s nothing you can do against a king_.   
“Let me make sure.” He practically begged. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her as well, and there was no telling how Dreamland would retaliate. 

“When do you leave?”   
“Soon—I need to tell the men.”   
“How soon?” She pressed, standing up from the throne and approaching him. “Long enough for me to give you my favor?”   
“If that’s what you desire.” Damn her, he knew better, but he just couldn’t stay away from her.   
She smiled. “And what if I desire four instead of three?” 

He swallowed. “Then… I would be honored, my queen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of the Bentwood throne being made of one huge gnarled piece of wood. I want to know more about those guys, you know?


	34. Elfo and Luci Get Nowhere... haha, unless?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Luci/Elfo content in this chapter, but its not explicit. More just talked about, if I remember correctly.

After about half an hour, the Devil got bored of being in the ballpit, and returned them to the previous room.  
“You two, of course have the run of the castle.” The Devil said, though he was holding Luci close at the same time.  
“This is a castle?” Elfo asked before he could stop himself. 

The Devil grimaced. “Well… yes. And no. It’s meant to be a sort of prison, but I’m not very good at staying put. So, it’s more my home, than anything.”  
“And why is it made of ice?” Luci asked.  
The Devil scratched behind Luci’s ears. “Climate control.” 

“Doesn’t work.” Luci said, leaning into the scratching.  
“My Lord… _please_ put that down. We don’t know what kind of diseases it’s picked up since—and I cannot stress this enough—its powers were taken away because it betrayed us.” Asmodeus said, folding his hands behind his back.  
The Devil shrugged. “But that was then, and this is now.” 

“So you’ll give me back my powers?” Luci asked excitedly.  
“No.” The Devil said. “Why would you have any need of powers now? You’re not going to leave again, it’s too dangerous. Besides, you’re something new! There’s never been a thing like you, and I find that fascinating!” 

“The kind of fascinating where you dissect them?” Asmodeus suggested cheerfully.  
The Devil shot him an annoyed look. “No. Look, I can see that you’re going to be difficult. …and besides, I need to get back to work. You two have fun while I’m gone, okay?” 

And then they were alone, once again.  
“Alright, so how do we get out of here?” Luci asked.  
“What? Why are you asking me?” Elfo squawked.  
“Well it was _your_ idea!”  
“It’s not like I know that much about Hell, _Lucille_!” 

“Hey! I used up my plan last time!”  
Elfo paused. “The Devil said there’s a wall. In his song.”  
“Yeah? Bean and I got past it last time.”  
“Well, if there’s a wall, that must mean that they’re trying to keep people in or out.” Elfo said slowly. “Which means there’s a way to be in or out.” 

“Wow, you’ve figured out what walls do, well done.” Luci rolled his eyes. “Next, you’ll be in awe of gates!”  
“Luci, Hell has a gate, right?”  
“Yeah? Obviously?”  
“Well, why couldn’t we just scale part of the wall that’s not the gate? And run?”  
Luci paused. “I mean, it’d be pretty fucking dangerous.” 

“We’re in Hell.”  
“And we’d have to run for our lives.”  
“ _Hell_ , Luci.”  
“And I don’t really know what’s going to happen if we die down here.” Luci finished. “But I imagine it’d be a lot harder to escape if you can’t see the wall.” 

“That—that can happen?”  
“The wall isn’t for the dead, Elfo.” Luci said softly. “They don’t even _see_ it.”  
“Then why…?”  
“Protection.” Luci replied stiffly. “So he says, anyway. I’m bored now, let’s go out the window.” 

“Luci, we’ll _die_ if we just…” Elfo gestured.  
Luci sat back, annoyed. “Oh, fuck, we’re both still mortal, huh? Ew.”  
“It’ll be alright—we just need a door.”  
“There _aren’t_ any doors, genius. Not to the outside. You’d have better luck stepping into a tapestry and _hoping_ that it’s your story _and_ your variation. And that might just lead us back here!” 

“Then tell me all of the rules!” Elfo hissed. “Geez—for someone who hates them, there sure are a lot of them!”  
“That’s why we hate them.” Luci curled up a bit. “We’re bound by them more than anything, down here.”  
“…should we try to start a revolution?”  
“…no. That’d fall apart _immediately_. Big Man doesn’t really take well to just straight up chaos and revolution, the hypocrite.” 

“So how do we _get out_?” Elfo asked.  
“Well, you could always _ask_.” Came a new voice. 

Elfo slowly turned, to look at a very tired Asmodeus. “Haha, what? What-what are you talking about?”  
“You two want to escape.” Asmodeus said. “Again. And do you know—I half want you to do so.”  
“Well, ya know, I think you should… half ass it.” Luci shrugged, stretching out nonchalantly. “C’mon, whaddya have to lose?”  
“Everything.”  
“Big risk, big gamble, _but_ you get rid of _us_. For now.” Luci pointed out. 

Asmodeus sighed. “You know, when you were last here, I was too swept up in the fact that there was something _new_ for his nibs, and how I might get an unChristmas bonus for it. Imagine, a human woman, in hell, and an elf soul!”  
“I’m sensing a but.” Elfo whispered to Luci.  
“ _But_ , you three caused inordinate amounts of damage, and that woman didn’t lift a fucking finger to do it. So, who’s to say that there won’t be inordinate damage _again_?” Asmodeus looked at them levelly. “Especially since Hell is no place for mortals. The food costs alone… it doesn’t bear thinking about.” 

“So, you’ll help us?” Elfo asked excitedly.  
“I’ll let you out of the castle. _Once_. If you two get caught, that is your own problem.” Asmodeus said. “And you have _no idea_ how you got out if asked, okay?”  
“Why not just give us a better cover story?” Luci asked.  
“I don’t trust either of you to remember details.” Asmodeus shrugged, before gathering them in his arms. The world faded and readjusted around them—and they were near the gates. Elfo opened his eyes—not realizing he’d ever really closed them, and blinked. 

Asmodeus set them down, and then took off into the air, flying away as though he was chasing someone at top speeds.  
“Well, that was handy.” Elfo said.  
“Guess he couldn’t wait to be rid of us, huh.” Luci watched Asmodeus with an almost unreadable expression. Almost. Elfo wrapped an arm around him. “Hey, let’s just focus on now, okay? Where should we climb?”  
Luci’s tongue darted out, almost like he was tasting the air. 

“…that way.” Luci finally said, getting down on all fours and breaking into a sprint. He dashed away, past the little gate, and Elfo followed, taking care not to gain on him too much and trip him up.  
The walls themselves were not overly long—but they were fairly tall. The saving grace for Elfo and Luci was that they were also _crumbling_ , which meant better hand and footholds. 

Luci scampered up to the top of the wall, and looked around. “Hm. Guess here works. Be careful!”  
This last part was hissed to Elfo as Elfo scrambled up and joined him, almost knocking them both into the moat of lava below.  
“How are we going to get down?” Elfo demanded.  
“I’m _working_ on it! You come up with something!” Luci huffed. 

Elfo thought for a moment. “Do you think it’s thick enough that we could run across it?”  
“That is the _dumbest_ idea I’ve ever heard. Try it.”  
Elfo hesitated, before sliding down the wall, to the very edge of the lava.  
“Uh… how ‘bout you try it first?” He called up to Luci.  
“Nah, I’m good!” Luci called back, but at least his tail wasn’t flicking, the way that it did when he was pleased. He did slide down to join Elfo.  
“It doesn’t look… too hot…” Elfo said, ignoring the sweat beading at his temples, and how in general it felt like he was in an oven. 

Luci silently slipped his hand into Elfo’s.  
“Well… we could always do it together.” Elfo told him.  
“Yeah, what’s the worst case scenario? That we die?” Luci laughed awkwardly, before clearing his throat. “I, um… I’ve never really felt heat like this. Before, I mean.” 

Elfo knew what he meant. He _knew_. But it still made his heart skip a weird beat.  
“Y-yeah, it’s… it’s hotter than it was last time.” Elfo said, squeezing Luci’s tiny paw slightly. “I… don’t think anyone would blame us if we gave it a bit more thought…”  
“Yeah, like we have enough time for that.” Luci scoffed, though he squeezed Elfo’s hand back. “It’s now or never. We won’t get another chance like this.” 

“And if we’re dead, we won’t be… new. Exciting.” Elfo tried.  
Luci shrugged.  
“And we’ll be together, at least. I think.” Elfo added, shooting Luci a quick glance.  
Luci looked out at the lava. “…yeah. Yeah, I can see how-how burning alive in a futile attempt at escaping Hell would… would be your worst memory. And mine. Obviously mine too.” 

“Not what I meant, but yeah.”  
“Well, there’s no use to dying together if we don’t see each other in the afterlife.” Luci scoffed.  
“Well… might as well stay together as long as we can.” Elfo took a deep breath. “On three?”  
“Yeah. Yeah.”  
“One…”  
“You know, in case we die, and don’t see each other… I’ll get to that later.”  
“Two…”  
“And you better not die and leave me alone! Don’t think I won’t come back to bust you out again!” 

Elfo stopped counting. “You’d come back? For me?”  
Luci looked away. “Don’t-don’t _make_ something of it. It’s nothing.”  
“Well, what if you die? And I live?”  
Luci straightened, and looked back at him. “Then I’ll see you again some day, when you’re old and have lived a good life.”  
“I don’t think I could live a good life without…” Elfo wet his lips. 

Luci didn’t notice. “If I die, and you throw that away, I will _personally_ come back to haunt you into misery! You hear me, Elfo? _Absolute misery_. Try to get laid with me haunting you, critiquing your sexual technique!”  
Despite himself, Elfo laughed. “Yeah, you would. I wouldn’t really mind though, not if you came back. In some way.”  
Luci hissed. “You’re such a fucking sap. I didn’t mean it like that!” 

“I know.” Elfo said quietly. “I didn’t think you did.”  
Luci’s tail twitched in agitation. He looked around quickly—which Elfo thought was odd, given that they were already most definitely alone—before jumping on Elfo. Before Elfo could react properly, Luci pressed his little mouth against Elfo’s. It was surprisingly chaste, given the bawdy nature of the former demon, and he was surprisingly smooth and soft. It felt… almost like how he had kissed Kissy, really, but also kind of like that time that he had petted Lady Lingonberry’s weird shaved dog. Luci’s skin texture seemed to be just that—skin. Not even a little hairy. Definitely weird, but not altogether unwelcome. 

And then, quick as he’d come, he was back in his former place.  
“I…” Elfo said.  
“Nothing happened.” Luci hissed.  
“What if I wanted it to?” Elfo asked.  
Luci gave him a searching look, then seemed to be cycling through responses. Elfo leaned over and pressed a small, chaste kiss of his own to Luci’s mouth. 

Luci blinked up at him, before retaking Elfo’s hand. “Three.” He finally said, voice cracking slightly.  
“Three.” Elfo agreed, ready to take a step. Foot outstretched, the lava suddenly so much closer… He closed his eyes, waiting for it to come.

“No!” Someone cried, and before they were engulfed in the lava together—they were both pulled into a strong pair of arms.  
Elfo opened his eyes. He and Luci were encased in green fabric, drawn to the Devil’s chest while he sat on the little edge next to the wall. 

“What were… _what_?” The Devil asked.  
Luci looked at Elfo, then closed his eyes. Letting out an almost imperceptible sigh, he opened his eyes again. “Well, you’ve got plenty of dead elves, right? This way, we wouldn’t be your weird little collectibles, we’d be, y’know, _normal_? The thing you’re not?”  
The Devil brushed off the jibes. “I… you’re not things. You’re—you’re my friends. I don’t have many, you see. I… I just thought, it would be nice to have someone to talk to.”  
“Why us?” Elfo demanded. 

“Why _not_ you? I needed… I need company, and… you need to be kept safe, so I decided… why not kill two birds with one stone?” The Devil took a deep breath, then stood—them still in his arms. And again, the world _twisted_ around them, until they were back in the Devil’s sitting room. “I… if you’re not happy here, you can leave. I won’t keep prisoners, I just… Not Dreamland. Please.”  
“Dreamland is our home!” Elfo hissed, scrambling out of his arms to stand on the sofa. Maybe this way he’d be closer to the Devil’s height, closer to being seen as an equal. 

“All I’m saying is, Dreamland—and the getting back there—would be tantamount to a death sentence!”  
“Like staying here wouldn’t be?” Luci scoffed.  
“No. No! I’d protect you. I _will_ protect you—no one will put you two in danger again, you’ll see. I’ll make sure no one accidentally puts you near the moat if you want to go out again.” The Devil nodded to himself. 

“What if it wasn’t an accident?” Elfo demanded.  
“Of course it was.” The Devil said. “What else could it be? You’re… you’re my friends. You don’t… you don’t _hate_ me like that.” And then, before Elfo or Luci could retort, he was gone. 


	35. Rest in Peace, Good Sir

Let us turn, for a moment, to Harald Muller. He was born in Traerbukt, and moved to Bentwood as a child. He viewed himself as a proper Bentwoodian until his death as an old, old man. He loved his country.

Harald, at this point in the story, was not quite young. He had a son, and three daughters already, the eldest of which was going to be married in a few years… though Harald could not, for the life of him, see how that would happen. Logically, he knew it _should_ happen, but the execution worried him. Another fascinating fact about Harald was that he had gone to the wedding between Bentwood and Dreamland, because he had been a simple courtier at the time. 

Harald, despite the fact that he liked Prince Guysbert (for Harald was a proper Bentwoodian, you’ll recall), was one of the few people that did not blame Princess Tiabeanie. She reminded him of his own Amy, and the whole thing made him sick with worry. But, really, the purpose of Harald was that, because of that, he befriended someone in Dreamland. This person ended up being Gerald, the herald and part time town crier of Dreamland, and it was the utmost irony that Harald ended up having Gerald’s job in Bentwood.

Or, to be more precise, the day that Sir Corian and Queen Bernice made their plan, the herald who had announced him sent a message to Dreamland that night. So, the next day, Dreamland received it, and the day after, Pendergast Llewellyn Griffiths was stationed in the forest with a small force of his own to wait.

Now here’s a secret—Dreamland’s days as a mighty, military power were long gone. Their soldiers were… not the best, especially those that had survived the last few years. Here’s another—Pendergast could not exactly raise a force of men without letting their _honored guests_ know that something was up, which was out of the question. 

So, Pendergast waited, astride his warhorse, with eight other men that he had been able to pull off of castle duty, ignoring those keeping the ‘suitors’ in line.  
Soon enough, five men, dressed in peasant clothes, came through the underbrush.  
Pendergast dismounted. “Ho there, travelers.”  
They stared at him, and he could see some reaching for poorly concealed swords—and not just any swords, _castle forged steel_. 

“Ho there, sir knight.” The leader, a man about Zog’s age said, crossing his arms. “What can we do for you?”  
“What are you doing in Dreamland, Corian?” Pendergast asked, because he wasn’t an idiot.  
Sir Corian sighed. “Well, that lasted all of two days. Well done, lad—you’re smarter than I was at your age.”  
“Between the two of us, I’m the one in plate armor. Don’t call me lad.” Pendergast snapped. “Turn around. Now.” 

“I can’t do that. I made a promise.” Sir Corian scowled. “And even if I didn’t, I have let this lie long enough.”  
“You could keep letting it lie!”  
“She hurt my boys!” Sir Corian hissed, losing his calm demeanour. “Now, the princes are the closest thing I have to sons, and if you were a father, you would understand! But, our quarrel isn’t with you, lad. Stand aside.” 

Pendergast drew his sword, as did all of the Dreamland knights. “If you want the princess, you’re going to have to go through me first.”  
Sir Corian growled wordlessly, and did the same. “Stupid boy. Enough blood’s been spilled on her account.”  
“Killing her wouldn’t wash that away.” Pendergast spat, before lunging for Corian.   
The Dreamland knights took this as their cue, and generally set off in teams of two against the Bentwood knights. With that, and their plate armor instead of the chain mail that Pendergast _knew_ the Bentwood knights hid under their clothes, they might be able to hold their own. Hopefully. 

That wasn’t his most pressing concern, though. It was Corian, who had parried Pendergast’s longsword with his own. Pendergast pushed against him, before Corian fell back. Pendergast stayed where he was, waiting for Corian to come to him—but then Corian began trying to circle around to his right side. Pendergast began moving in a circular motion as well, keeping his eye on Corian.

Corian lunged suddenly, and Pendergast brought his sword up in an almost vertical motion—which made Corian’s sword skitter and slide off. Pendergast turned his sword around dropping Corian’s sword as well—and in a desperate motion, Pendergast grabbed at Corian’s longsword and _pulled_ , trying to pull the older man onto his own sword. 

He didn’t notice Corian hooking an ankle around his foot until it was too late.  
Pendergast fell, dropping his sword—and Corian took the opportunity to try and stab him. Pendergast rolled, grabbing his sword in the process. Corian raised his sword for an overhead attack, shifting into the ox stance. However, Pendergast raised himself to one knee and _pushed_. 

There was a single, quiet moment. Then Pendergast looked.  
His sword had gone straight through Sir Corian, but that didn’t mean Corian was dead quite yet. Before Pendergast could pull his sword back out, Corian swung down. Pendergast pulled to the side as he stood, unintentionally wrenching his sword as well. Corian fell, his sword scratching against Pendergast’s plate.  
Pendergast stood, panting—and then a searing pain erupting in his leg, where the plate mail didn’t cover him. 

Corian looked up at him with a bloody grin, and Pendergast kicked him away, finally pulling the sword out completely. Sir Corian lay still, and his sword dangled in Pendergast’s thigh for a moment before slipping out on its own. Pendergast ground his teeth as he felt how _wet_ his leg felt, and he looked around for help. 

There was no one living on either side. He needed to get back to the castle.  
“Carrots.” He gritted out. “Here, boy.”  
Carrots was an ornery horse, but for once, was helpful—standing still as Pendergast boosted himself up on his good leg, and pressed his hand against the wound. “Ride.” Pendergast hissed out. 

  


Meanwhile, Odval was in the throne room, finally having been able to get an appointment to discuss his worries. Indeed, the extra time had just heightened them.  
“So what’s this about?” Zog asked.  
“Pendergast married your daughter!” Odval burst out.  
“Wha… when?” Zog demanded. 

“On their little romantic getaway, I’m guessing!”  
Zog scowled. “It’s against the law t’lie to me like that! And cause all this trouble—fuck, what’s this mess even for if she’s not gettin’ married?!”  
Odval nodded in sympathy, then made a beeline for the king’s liquor stash in the chimney. 

“Would you like a drink, your majesty?” Odval asked, already uncorking the brandy.  
“Nah, I’m not addin’ alcohol to this. How d’ya _know_?”  
Odval poured the brandy anyway, then shotgunned it. “The marriage, or where you keep the liquor?” “The marriage. Even fuckin’ Derek knows where I keep the liquor.”  
“He’s obsessed with her. I thought he’d… well, I thought that he would focus on his wife now, but it seems it’s only made him worse. He’s… she’s done this to him, think about how he’s been acting since they returned!” 

Zog’s scowl grew. “Where’re they?”  
“The princess is, to the best of my knowledge, taking a nap. Probably sleeping off a hangover.” Odval sniffed, then poured himself another finger of brandy. “Pendergast is…”  
A horn sounded.  
“Pendergast is back.” Odval finished, tossing back his second drink.  
“Have ‘em both brought in here.” Zog ordered. 

  


Odval nodded, and went to delegate orders. When he returned after dragging the princess out of bed—who did she think she was fooling?—Pendergast was a collapsed heap on the floor.  
“Pen!” The brat screamed, throwing herself at him. “What did you do to him?!”  
“He was like that when he came back.” Zog snapped. “Why d’you care, anyway?” 

The princess froze. “I… you… he’s a good knight! You should care! Not just… leave him like this!”  
“Hey! He has a tourniquet, s’all he deserves!” Zog shouted.  
“You see my point now, don’t you, your majesty?” Odval asked. 

Zog punched him—Odval didn’t quite dodge, but it was fine. He wasn’t what Zog was angry at right now. “I’m gonna kill him—the minute he can stand, I’m gonna kill him!” Zog swore.  
“Why not just wait?” Odval said. “He’ll die of his wounds without treatment, and then there’s no… _spectacle_ to it. The races and the marriage can proceed apace.”  
“No. No!” The princess howled. “You can’t do this!”  
“Hey! I’m the king here!” Zog snarled. 

The hellion looked as though she wanted to reply to that, but then Pendergast twitched slightly. Odval began to see a spot of red appearing on the floor—apparently he was bleeding out despite the tourniquet.  
“Please! I’ll—I’ll do anything! Just… please, save him!” She begged. Odval saw her eyes shine as she began to sob, but he wouldn’t be fooled by her crocodile tears.   
“You’ll do it anyway.” Zog growled. “I’m not havin’ any more of this! You fucked up my knight!”  
“Besides—why would you want him to die as a traitor, instead of die a hero?” Odval asked, before following the king out of the room, leaving the horrid girl alone with what her actions had wrought.

  


Some time later, Bean bodily dragged a very unconscious Pendergast into camp, towards the Griffiths tent. Her shirt was torn, and there was another, tighter tie around his leg.   
“Help me.” She begged the crowd of onlookers. “Help me!”  
In the end, Bruce Austin carried Pendergast the rest of the way to the Griffiths tent, while Bean ran on to tell Blodeuwedd to get ready.

Never mind that Blodeuwedd Griffiths had never performed any kind of medical procedure like the one her brother needed. Never mind that as they entered the tent, Pendergast’s eyes fluttered open, met Bean’s, and then he promptly fell limp in Bruce’s arms and would not be roused.


	36. Oh? The coup? Well then, merci beauCOUP

Bruce set Pendergast down on a cot in the tent.  
Blodeuwedd bit her lip. “Water—I need water! And bandages! And-and… thread! And a needle!”  
“I have a needle and clean thread. Will it work?” Alice asked.  
Bruce hesitated for a minute, before saying, “Little one, when you’re mending him… there’s a place on the leg where men can die quickly if they’re cut. So… just make sure that you stitch up the inside as well, so he doesn’t just bleed and bleed even if the bandages are clean.”

Blodeuwedd, who was already very pale, nodded.  
“I… can help if you want?” Alice said. “I know about sewing, after all.”  
“Yeah.” Blodeuwedd said, before taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Thanks, Alice.”  
Alice smiled softly, before the two girls disappeared into the tent.  
“So, what happened?” Thomas asked.

“I didn’t _stab_ him.” Bean snarled.  
“I was hoping even _you_ wouldn’t try to kill your husband, but you never know.” Thomas snapped back. “No, I meant, why here? Don’t you have _professional_ help? Why are you making my sister do this?”  
Bean deflated. “I… they wouldn’t help him. They… knew somehow, I don’t know how!”  
“Likely that scene at the ball…” David muttered behind Thomas.

“What do you mean _they_?” Thomas demanded.  
“Odval and my dad! I mean, they’re always awful, but this… they were just going to let him die, because it was more _convenient_.” Bean hissed out. “I’m not going back there, and you can’t make me!”  
“So, what, you’re just going to stay here?” Thomas asked, but there didn’t seem to be so much bite to it. He leaned back thoughtfully, then barked, “David! We’re going to go see the king!”

“Like this?” David blinked. “Immediately? Thomas, that’s not… that’s not the _done thing_.”  
Thomas shrugged. “You don’t have to come.”  
“I…” David glanced towards the tent. “I’ll come.”

The king was in a mood today.  
Which wasn’t to say that he was usually in a _better_ mood, but it was clear that the Pendergast Problem was weighing on him now. Odval tenderly rubbed his nose, and sighed in the shadows. Horrible family, really. That poor boy should be thankful he was _saved_ —and then Odval was jolted from his thoughts by the door opening.

And for half a second, he thought it was Pendergast. Pendergast, whole and risen from the dead to… well, going by his face, have his revenge. And then, next to him, the Pendergast that they had dragged to war and a senseless conquest ending in mutilation.  
Odval glanced at the king—and luckily, he was just as pale. Good. They’d face their judgement together then.

Young Pendergast bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, my name is David Griffiths. This is my cousin Thomas, and you’re obviously well aware of my other cousin, Pendergast Griffiths.”  
Oh. Well, that was better than the ghost of Pendergast coming to kill them.  
“You mean the schmuck that tried ta elope wit’ mah daughtah.” Zog growled.

“Succeeded.” Thomas corrected, almost lazily. “I was at the wedding.”  
There was a _clunk_ as a trapdoor opened—unfortunately, it was the wrong one. Ah, it was bound to happen eventually.  
“We are here to ask for your majesty’s intercession.” David said quickly, realizing what would happen if Zog pulled the _right_ lever. “Our kinsman has been grievously wounded in your service—”

“And the king has decided that it would be best for Pendergast to die of his wounds, to protect his reputation and that of your family.” Odval interrupted smoothly. “Let him die a hero.” If he said it enough, it might stop the churning in his gut.  
Thomas snorted. “Yeah, I can see how _his_ reputation would be ruined by his daughter running off with a lowly second son of a second son from the border territories.”  
“He meant Gast’s reputation.” Zog snarled. “Let him be a good knight.”

“It’s rather hard if you’re dead.” Thomas snapped.  
David elbowed him. “I’m so sorry about my cousin, your majesty. But, uh… what will happen if Pendergast… lives?”  
“He’ll be tried, and summarily executed.” Odval said flatly. “As will any who try to help him evade justice—the healers, those who sheltered him… those who tried to intercede on his behalf.”  
David paled, and Thomas looked a thread away from snapping.

“David.” He finally bit out.  
“Yes?”  
“What do women need?”  
“…food?”

Thomas glared at him. “No. While we’re here, seeing as you know more about women than I do, do you think that there is anything my darling sister-in-law might need?”  
“Oh.” David said. “I… um, I’ll go check.”  
David promptly left through a side door, though Odval was fairly certain he had never been to the castle before. (And, in all honesty, Zog was many things, but an architect was not one of them. The castle was a labyrinth of hasty construction, and a completely unintuitive design. They didn’t even really have a problem with robbers now that Tiabeanie had moved onto other problems, so that could not exactly justify it.)

Thomas drew himself up to his full height. “So, if I was trying to make sure my brother didn’t die, that would be treason, right?”  
“Yer already committin’ treason.” Zog spat. “Talkin’ to me like dat? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”  
“I’m the man who is going to make sure that you’re off that throne.” Thomas said, far too nonchalantly. “I’m the man who is going to save my family, who has been nothing but loyal to you and your regime, and making Penny happy isn’t going to change that. Or at least, it wasn’t, until you threatened my baby sister, who is currently trying to keep all of Penny’s blood inside of him. You wanted to avoid a scandal? I’m sure living as a pauper will reprioritize you.”

“That-that—” Zog was turning purple. “You can’t say dat to me. I’m the king!”  
“What’s more treason, when I’m already treasonous?!” Thomas snarled. “You may be king now, but I’ve never sworn fealty to you, and I never will. You are no king to me.”  
Zog stood. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”  
“You can try, old man, but I’ve faced down worse fathers than you, and I am the one standing here instead of Arwel ap Maredudd!” Thomas roared. “And I will never let a bad father hurt my siblings again!”

“GUARDS!” Odval called, knowing that Zog could not win this in a direct confrontation (and he certainly wasn’t going to help).  
Thomas simply stood there, eyes burning with a disquieting hatred. His hands were curled into fists beside him.

Here was a conundrum: Pendergast had left Turbish and Mertz behind when he had ridden off with a coterie of guards to stop Bentwood. A noble cause, and Odval had been glad of his foresight at the time—idiots weren’t really meant for battle, after all. As such, they were the ones who came through the door.

“Pendergast, you’re back!” Turbish smiled.  
“Arrest him!” Zog snarled. “Throw him in the dungeons to _rot_!”  
“Pendergast, can you move? You’re blocking the guy we’re supposed to arrest.” Mertz said, shrugging.  
“You’re out of armor!” Turbish gasped, having just realized. “And you have your eye back!”

“This can only mean one thing…” Mertz gasped as well.  
“I’m not Pendergast?” Thomas said drily.  
“No, you traded your armor for an extra eye!” Turbish said. Mertz nodded sagely.  
Thomas shook his head. “Yes, I can see with the quality of guards here, you have no need of my brother. David! Get out—we’re leaving!”

David, who apparently had just wandered into a closet and had not left because of how awkward it would have been, scurried back to Thomas’ side.  
“What the hell are you two doin’—arrest them!” Zog howled.  
Thomas looked at Turbish and Mertz. “You two—your loyalty is to Pendergast, first and foremost?”  
“Well, to the king, but same thing. Pendergast is never in trouble with the king.” Turbish said. “Hello, smaller Pendergast!”  
David cringed and waved weakly.  
Thomas smirked. “Well then. Bringing down a dynasty will be easier than I thought. See you in a bit. Come along, David.”  
“Don’t you two _dare_ follow them!” Odval hissed at Turbish and Mertz, who had already turned to do so.  
The king growled and immediately tried to drop them down a Zog hole.

The punch that Odval got for saving the lives of _the only two trained knights they had left_ , even if it was just Turbish and Mertz, was definitely worth it.


	37. Fighting the teenagers' feelings for control of the plot

“You declared war on the king.” David hissed as they left the castle.   
“Yes.” Thomas said.   
“He will _crush_ us—we have one— _one_!—crumbling keep! And he’s a _king_!”   
Thomas stopped abruptly. “Well, he may be a king, but I can’t believe that his castle is that much better than ours. Ours doesn’t have holes in it.”

David held his head in his hands, bunching his hair between his fingers and pulling. “Oh, you’re making jokes. We’re all going to die, and you’re becoming a _comedian_. They’re going to raze Caer Griffiths to the ground and kill Mother and Alice and Rachel and Grandmother and Auntie Lynette and Birdy and you’re making _jokes_.”   
“Who says they’re going to kill us? With what army?” Thomas asked, tugging gently on David’s hands to pull him away from his hair.

“With what… with _that_ army!” David gestured to the castle behind them, then down at the campground..   
“Two idiots who can’t tell me from Penny, and people whose alliance to the crown is tenuous at best.” Thomas said drily. “…I do have some semblance of a plan, you know. And it’s kind of telling that the so-called king couldn’t even throw us in jail.”   
“Oh, you make jokes, and then you make plans. Wonderful. Brilliant.” David made to pull at his hair again, and Thomas gently pinned his arms to his sides. “David, _calm down_. I’m not going to let anything happen to anyone related to us. But, if you’re so concerned, you can help me to make sure everything goes fine. Alright?”   
“Alright. Alright.” David took a deep breath. “I suppose we need to go plan a revolution.”

Meanwhile, Blodeuwedd ran out of the tent, and promptly threw up. Bean ran over, and pulled her hair back. She twisted it into a bun and rubbed Blodeuwedd’s back with her free hand as it turned to dry retching, and then to sobs.   
“Yeah, your first beer does that to you.” Bean joked, before sneaking a glance at Blodeuwedd. “Um, listen, Pen’s okay, right?”   
Blodeuwedd pulled back unexpectedly, causing Bean to yank her hair.

“Ow!”   
“Sorry, sorry!” Bean hurriedly let go.   
Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes. “No, it’s… it’s better than me just… seeing the blood, you know? I think he’s fine. I don’t know. I keep telling myself that my brother’s going to be fine, but…”   
“But sometimes, blood is freaky.” Bruce said behind her.   
“Jesus, for a big guy, you’re really light on your feet.” Bean jumped.

Bruce smiled at her in a well-meaning sort of way, before turning to Blodeuwedd. “Listen, I thought Pendergast was dead four years ago. He wasn’t. He could survive an arrow to the eye, fired by a Saracen marksman. He can survive this.”   
Blodeuwedd shoved her hands at him. “But there’s so much _blood_ and it should all be inside him and what if I made a mistake?! He’s-he’s my brother! He’s not supposed to be _bleeding out_ here!”

“Bleeding out?” Bean repeated. “No- he’s—no, he’s fine. You said he’s fine.”   
“I don’t know! What if I messed up?!” Blodeuwedd grabbed at her hair, then yelped when she realized that she had accidentally smeared the blood in. “Oh God I can smell it—it’s never going to wash out, I’m going to be covered in Penny’s blood forever—”

Bean grabbed her hands, and squeezed. “Birdy! Birdy, _look at me_! Calm down! Everything’s going to be okay—remember when I was freaking out? At Caer Griffiths? And you told me everything would be fine? And it was. So everything’s going to be fine now.”   
“That… doesn’t make any sense.” Bruce pointed out.  
Bean turned to glare at him for being unhelpful, and caught sight of Luke, who was shuffling awkwardly behind Bruce.

“Uh… hi?” She scrunched up her nose, annoyed. “Look, this is kind of a bad time—”   
Luke gestured awkwardly. “No, no, I’m not here for you. I mean, I am, technically, but… agh, let me start at the beginning.”   
He then pretended to remove his thumb several times, looking at them for confirmation.

“…what?” Bruce said bluntly.   
Luke stopped pretending to remove his thumb. “I… it always makes my sister feel better.”   
“How old is your sister?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
“16. She says it makes me look like an idiot, but it reminds her of when we were kids so…” Luke scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Um, I thought it might make you feel better?”

Blodeuwedd wiped at her eyes and gave him a watery smile. “I mean, I’m… distracted.”  
Luke looked relieved. “Good. Awesome. Amazing. Um… so, I’m looking for Thomas? I mean, I can see that he’s not here, because I’m pretty sure you’re his sister, but then I heard ‘Saracen marksman’, which… usually means me. Sorry, I know I’m rambling. I just… I thought out what to say to Thomas! Because I’m good at talking to _guys_ , I mean—not like that—I mean… it’s easier for me to be confident when I feel like I’m being insulted, or when he’s so awkward that I feel less awkward by comparison, and it’s usually the first one—and I have been talking for far too long so I’m just getting more and more nervous. Please don’t tell Thomas how awkward I really am.”

“Bold of you to assume I talk to Thomas.” Bean said.   
“I was hoping you would—a coup is much easier with a figurehead.” Thomas said from behind her.   
Everyone turned to look at him, and Luke stood up straighter. It didn’t seem to matter much, because he was still next to Bruce, who made everyone else look small.

“A coup?!” Bean demanded. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”   
“He swore vengeance upon your father for not helping Penderrgast.” David explained. “And he’s going to rile up all the nobles. Please help—we’ll die if you don’t. Really painfully. All of us.”   
Bean stared at them. “You’re asking me to betray my father.”   
“As I see it, you never swore any vows to your father. _But_ , as Blodeuwedd and I recall, you swore vows to Penny.” Thomas pointed out. “Besides, your father is a bit… how do I put this… awful.”

David visibly winced. “Thomas, that’s treason.”   
“We’re already doing treason, what’s a bit more?” Thomas asked lightly, keeping his eyes on Bean. “What’s it going to be, Tiabeanie? The destruction of the entire Griffiths line, our home torn down to the last brick, and the status quo goes on and on until you eventually marry some shithead who came to call? Or are you going to fight for something for once in your life?”

“I never said I wasn’t going to do it.” Bean snapped. “I just… I don’t want to kill my father. Or Derek. Or even Odval, if it comes down to it.”   
Thomas nodded. “A fair concession. When Penny wakes up—”   
“ _If_ Penny wakes up.” Blodeuwedd interrupted mournfully.   
“ _When_ Penny wakes up.” Thomas repeated. “He can handle any specifics that need to be handled. Hopefully, this will be entirely bloodless, and we can just intimidate him into stepping down. It’s not like he could exactly fight back if we got everyone here to stand with us.”

“How are you going to do _that_?” Luke asked.   
Everyone’s gazes snapped to him, and Thomas flushed, blinking rapidly. “Oh. Hi, Luke.” He said weakly. “What you here brings? …wait, that’s not right. Um… did you know poplar trees make excellent shields?”   
“I knew that!” Bruce said cheerfully.   
Before Thomas could reply, David cleared his throat. “Lord Dashley brings up a good point. Even if the races are suspended, our time is running short. Soon, the men will return to their lands, especially since spring planting is soon to be underway, and many of them have duties to oversee. We need to know who is on our side, and who is on the king’s, and quickly. If possible, within the next three days, at _most_.”

“There’s no way we can convince them that quickly.” Blodeuwedd scoffed. “There are so many houses here, David.”   
“Well, it wasn’t _my_ idea to declare war on the king!”   
Bean crossed her arms. “What if we got kind of… groups together? Like, some of them are bound to have grouped up by now anyway, right? And then they tell their friends who weren’t at the meeting?”

“This is _very_ tenuous.” David muttered. Louder, he said, “What even would these groups be?”   
Bean bit her lip. “Wait, Pen had groupings for them… um… fuck, I don’t remember how he put it, but there’s… the showoffs, the gay guys, the rich assholes, the jocks, the competitive fuckers, and uh… fuck, what’s the last one… right, the social climbers.”

“That’s six groups. There’s six of us.” Luke said, looking around.   
“Seven.” Alice corrected, stepping out of the tent and wiping bloody hands on a spare rag. “I heard everything. You guys weren’t quiet.”   
“What were you still doing in there?” Bruce asked her.   
Alice shrugged. “I know it’s supposed to be different, but human flesh reminded me of a batch of soft leather I once embroidered as part of a present for my father. I used invisible stitches there, and I tried to use them here, since there were… more than just the ones on the surface. It’s not my brother. I was able to stay. His heart was still beating when I bandaged him up and left.”

“You must think me weak.” Blodeuwedd muttered.   
Alice smiled. “No. I don’t. If I had a brother—if it was my brother—then I think I’d be just as worried as you were. And you still managed to help. I think you’re strong, Blodeuwedd.”   
Colour began to rise in Blodeuwedd’s cheeks. “I… thank you, Alice.”   
“It’s true.”   
“Well, I also meant for saving my brother.” Blodeuwedd said quickly, though the way that her eyes darted away belied her true intentions.

David cleared his throat. “I am also grateful to you, my love. However, with Pendergast safe, I must admit that my mind turns to the pressing matter—”   
“Ugh, sometimes it takes you guys like 50 words to say one thing.” Bean interrupted. “Let’s just split up to cover more ground. Birdy, how ‘bout you go with me, and we’ll take the social climbers. If they can’t get through to my dad, and I’m going to be in power, they’re probably going to try to climb up my ass.”

“Why me?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
“Because I have a feeling that your cousin—the one Pendergast punched and disqualified a couple days ago, not David—is the ringleader, and I bet you’ll be able to get through to him more than me.” Bean shrugged. “The rest of you guys can make speeches and stuff about what you’re going to do, but make sure it gets done, okay?”

With that, she pulled Blodeuwedd off—towards a horse trough, first and foremost—while everyone else looked at each other.


	38. Coup-peration (Part 1)

“So…” Bean began, after Birdy scrubbed the blood off of herself in a horse trough. “Um… girls, am I right?”   
“What?” Blodeuwedd gave her a weird look, before returning to scratching at her skin with her fingernails in lieu of soap.   
Bean cleared her throat. This was… not going great.

“When I was your age… I had a crush on Mop Girl.” Bean continued. “So, um. It’s normal. It’s nice.”   
Blodeuwedd stopped scratching, and stared at her. “…where are you going with this? Who is Mop Girl?”   
“Well, that’s nor really her name—I’m pretty sure her name is Miri, but I couldn’t really _ask_ because I’m not really… good at feelings, and by then it was too late—”   
“Are you leaving my brother for Mop Girl?” Blodeuwedd interrupted.

“No! No. That’d be _really_ shitty, even for me! Jesus!”   
“Then why the hell are you bringing up Mop Girl?”   
“Because I thought you might have a crush on Alice, and I wanted you to hear the stuff that I wish someone had said to me!”   
Blodeuwedd froze. “I… you… what? No, I… she’s just… _oh_. Oh, no.”

“It’s okay, you know?” Bean said. “I once had sex with a mermaid, so—”   
“Gross! …because you’re my sister in all but blood, not because it was with another woman.” Blodeuwedd said quickly, before putting her face in her hands. “I mean, it’s not like I can judge, when I’ve been thinking—I mean, it’s normal, right? To think of your best friend with such… endearing tenderness?”

Bean leaned against the water trough. “I mean, I’m not really the best person to ask that.”   
“Right, because you have trouble confronting your feelings…” Blodeuwedd nodded.   
“Right—wait, hey! Did Pen say that? I’m getting better!” Bean huffed. “No, I meant… listen, I didn’t really… have friends. Until recently. And Luci and Elfo aren’t exactly _human_ , and they don’t… Luci’s not a good friend. Friends want you to be better and—” Bean cut herself off, watching Blodeuwedd’s face.   
Bean cleared her throat, and then said, “Anyway, it doesn’t mean anything bad about you.”

“I just… I’m mad at myself. I finally have a friend, and I’m going to ruin it.” Blodeuwedd hissed, pulling angrily at her cuffs. Then she looked up at Bean. “Why would it—I mean, I’m going to ruin my first friendship outside of my family, I think that says a _lot_ about me and it’s not _good_ —”   
“Listen.” Bean said firmly. “I know a lot about fucking up friendships. And your friendship with Alice is great.”   
“Well, if you picked up on the fact that I have _feelings_ for her, she probably did too, and now it’s awkward because she’s married to David and it’s not like anything can ever _happen_ because of that—and she loves him, did you know? Because she does—”

“Birdy, _calm down_!” Bean grabbed her shoulders. “Just because you have a crush on her doesn’t mean anything has to happen! Crushes are normal, they happen. You don’t have to do anything, it’ll run its course. And hey, maybe you’ll meet a nice girl someday, but you’re _sixteen_. You don’t have to settle down right now, okay?”   
Blodeuwedd gave her a dubious look. “I’m of a marriageable age.”   
“That’s a big yikes, by the way.” Bean sighed. “Look, you’re young. You’re like… a baby.”   
“Excuse me?” Blodeuwedd bristled.

“My _point_ is that this is a nice thing, a sweet thing, but it doesn’t have to be the be-all, end-all thing that you forge your life around. Alice is a nice girl, a great girl, and I don’t think your friendship is really going to be shaken by this. Now come on, I need your help with the leader of the self-righteous assholes.”   
Blodeuwedd snorted at that. “His name is Chaddeus. He’s our second cousin.”   
“…the one Pendergast punched?”

“Yep.”   
“…I don’t suppose we can go to anyone else?”   
“Nah.” Here Blodeuwedd put on an affected tone. “ _Chaddeus Petrichor Aurelius Evans the Ninth_ is a _most respectable_ young man, who has positively _oodles_ of power, respect, and money. He is going to be the _Duke_ of _Twinkletown_ , you know.”   
Bean laughed. “So why’s he a social climbing throne chaser if he has everything?”   
“Because he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t think he _does_ have everything.” Blodeuwedd shrugged.

Bean nodded slowly. “Right, well… we just go in there?”   
Blodeuwedd looked at her askance. “…maybe try and be a bit more… regal. Let me do a lot of the talking, tilt your head up, that kind of thing.”   
Bean looked straight up, and Blodeuwedd winced. “Not that much. Just… act like Granny. Here, come on.”

Elsewhere, Bruce had entered a makeshift arms yard full of squabbling men. These were the competitive fuckers, and since no one else would engage with them, they engaged with each other.   
It should be mentioned that Bruce had an enormous sack slung over one shoulder, which he put down on the ground. He then withdrew a log about the size of a man’s thigh from the sack, and tore it in half.

Everyone stopped moving to stare at him.   
“Hello!” Bruce said cheerfully. “I have come to tell you about an opportunity. If you wish, I have more logs in the sack, and you can try to break them apart yourselves, but I’d prefer if you listened first.”   
“Of course we can break them apart!” Angus Byrne, who had been alongside Bruce for the first race, burst out of the crowd.

“I’m not doubting you.” Bruce said. “I simply wanted to make sure you all knew about this opportunity before everyone else.”   
That got most of their attention. (A few of them were still looking at the sack balefully.)   
“What kind of opportunity?” One asked.

“Ah. We’re going to overthrow the king.” Bruce said. “And if you feel like you should be entitled to something better in terms of your land rights, you should come to our rebellion meeting and make yourself known. And support us, obviously.”   
“Rebellion meeting?” Angus looked dubious. “We are men of _action_! We do not do _meetings_!”   
There was much muttering and agreeing with this.

Bruce calmly took another, larger log out of the sack. This one, he snapped with his bare hands.   
“So anyway.” Bruce said, as the competitive fuckers stared at him, unnerved. “We’re having a meeting tomorrow near the Griffiths tent. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, and I can make no promises. Just thought you ought to know.”   
“What are the details of the meeting? Like… time, and place?” One of the more organized competitive fuckers demanded.

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know, the princess left before that could be ironed out. Let’s say three o’clock. Anyway, I’ll see you there.”   
“What if we don’t go?”   
Bruce shrugged again. “That’s really up to you. Would you like me to leave my logs here so that you can tear them apart? Also, would you mind terribly if I took the ones I already tore up back? I think that they’d be lovely firewood as they are now.”

Bruce, without waiting for an answer, stooped to pick up the splintered wood, then left. Along the way back to the Griffiths tent, he ran into a troupe of musicians. Several minutes later, with information (and a fair bit of coin) divulged, the musicians were writing a song in favor of Bean and Pendergast’s no-longer-secret-marriage and the subsequent rebellion. They were also under strict instructions to tell anyone who was interested where and when the meeting would be. 

Meanwhile, Thomas and Luke walked into a tented area, wherein men in various states of undress were lifting things and putting them back down again.   
“Luke, bro, you’re here! D’you want to do an archer?” One of them asked enthusiastically.   
“Not right now, Josh.” Luke smiled wanly.   
Josh nodded once, then turned back to what he was doing. “So then her tiddies—they were very _round_ , you know? And soft? And she let me touch them! Bro!”

This was somehow a signal for the rest, as they picked up the howl of “BRO!”   
Thomas, taken aback, glanced at Luke for a reaction. Luke was watching the howling nonchalantly.   
Thomas was so focused on Luke that he didn’t notice Josh sneak up on his other side. “Bro, welcome to our tent. What’s your name?”   
“Um—Thomas. Thomas Griffiths.”   
“That is a most bodacious name. I’m Josh Nemberly.”   
“Nice to meet you.”

Josh peered at him. “Thomas, bro, I couldn’t help put notice you didn’t seem particularly enthused by my description of tiddies.”   
“I… no. I’m not interested in…” Thomas gestured vaguely.   
A look of understanding overcame Josh. “Oh, you’re gay? Understandable, man. But hey, you know that parts don’t make the person, right? My little brother has tiddies and girl parts, but he’s like, a boy. A double bro, if you will.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Thomas blinked.   
Josh nodded, and grinned. “Right on. Let’s talk about butts now. Everyone has butts. Bros! Did I tell you about this time I saw a most _bodacious_ butt?”   
By the answering howls, the answer was apparently ‘no’.

“Alright, so I’m in the village shop, buyin’ stuff, when I see this girl walk by. And her butt is _so round_ , it’s like it was sculpted by God itself. So I kind of glance at it, but not enough to stare openly, because that would be rude.” Josh sat down on a box in the center of the room. The other jocks, apparently sensing that it was Story Time, gathered around.   
“So she sees me checking out her hot bod, and comes over, like, ‘can I help you’? And I don’t want to be a creep, so I compliment her on something else. So I say, ‘wow, your hair is really shiny’.”

Thomas, confused, glanced at Luke, who shrugged.   
Josh continued. “So she’s like, ‘what really’ and I’m all, ‘yeah really also it smells really nice’ and she’s like, ‘I put lavender oil in it every day’ and I’m all ‘whoa nice where do I get some’ and she’s like ‘I make it myself’ and so anyway that’s how I met my wife.”   
Thomas, had he been drinking, would have given a spittake. “Wh-what? You’re married?”

Josh blinked at him. “Yeah, bro. We did it in a church and everything.”   
“But… why are you here? The whole point of _winning_ this is to marry the princess!” Thomas said.   
Josh shrugged. “I don’t know, man. My wife’s dad said I had to do this.”

“What?” Luke was the first one to ask.   
“Oh, right, sorry. Not the dad she was born to? That’s my dad now. He’s really cool, says things like, ‘whoa, you’re so good at pulling up crops, teach your new brother to do that as good as you’ and I’m like, ‘thanks new dad you’re great’ but my old dad sucks?”   
“Did you… switch dads?” Thomas asked.

“Bro, yeah? That’s how marriage works? You switch dads and families and stuff? Because bro, when you get married, you join families? But then she’d be your sister, and that’s fucked up. So you just switch.” Josh nodded with an air of complete confidence.   
The assorted jocks around also nodded, as though this made absolutely nothing but sense.   
“So, your dad said you had to do this.” Luke said slowly.

“No, my _original_ dad said I had to do this.” Josh corrected. “Don’t worry, I understand it may take a little getting used to. Not sure if it works the same way for gay marriage? I never really asked.”   
“…no.” Luke finally said.   
Josh nodded solemnly. “Understandable. So anyway, what brings you guys here?”   
“My brother secretly married the princess, and his, uh… _new father_ is trying to kill him for it.”   
Josh gaped at him. “Bro! That sucks!”

Thomas nodded. “It does suck… bro. So we’re going to get his new father out of power, so he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”   
Josh nodded. “Bro, that is a _most excellent_ plan. Hey, I should do the same thing!”   
“You should, but first can you come help us?” Luke asked. “Since Pendergast’s new father is the king?”   
“Bro, it’d be an honor.” Josh said. The other jocks nodded.

“Um, great. See you there.” Thomas said, waving as he and Luke left.   
“Should we have discussed any details of… an actual meeting beforehand?” Thomas asked Luke as they left.   
Luke shrugged. “Josh and his friends will inevitably show up. Come on, we have more business to drum up.”

Bean and Blodeuwedd, meanwhile, were being admitted to Chaddeus’ tent. He was reclining on a chaise lounge, being fed grapes by a bored looking woman. Servants milled about, apparently packing away his opulence.   
“The princess to see you, sir.” His personal herald said.   
Blodeuwedd cleared her throat.

“And her… handmaid.” The herald guessed.   
Chaddeus glanced at them. “Blod-Blood—cousin, is that you? What on earth happened to you?” He clapped his hands, and the woman with the grapes backed off, allowing him to sit up slightly.   
“It’s been a trying day.” Blodeuwedd said shortly. “Chaddeus, we need to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re here for.” Chaddeus said, waving his hand dismissively. “I accept.”   
“Really?” Bean asked. “That was fast.”   
Blodeuwedd narrowed her eyes, but tried to keep her tone light. “Honored cousin, just so that we may be clear, what exactly are you accepting? After all, if you’re accepting our apology on behalf of Pendergast, it’s far more magnanimous than necessary to accept it without us even speaking the words.”

Chaddeus snorted. “No, you stupid girl. I’m accepting the offer of marriage to the princess.”   
“Whoa, wait, what?” Bean demanded.   
“Pendergast will have to come to me to apologize for himself—a sister wouldn’t do. Women are always trying to be peaceable creatures.” Chaddeus continued. “But you may get on with the preliminary apology, if you so wish.”

“No no no, get back to the part where you think I am going to marry you.” Bean huffed.   
Chaddeus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, you won’t?”   
Blodeuwedd sort of threw herself on the ground. “Oh, honored cousin, we come to you to beg you for help. You see, in a fit of passion, the princess eloped with my dear brother.”   
“Wh—Blod—Blood— _you_ , Thomas is gay!”   
Blodeuwedd got on her knees in a kneeling position. “Cousin, you are so wise and perceptive. However, it was Pendergast whom she eloped with, several months ago, out of the sheer love that they bear for one another. Cousin, we come to you in this time of trouble, so that you may shine your light upon this union, and it may seem proper to the king.”

“It’s _not_ proper!” Chaddeus squawked. “Pendergast is-is-he’s just a knight!”   
“And they are expecting a babe!” Blodeuwedd continued.   
“We’re _what_?!” Bean demanded.   
Blodeuwedd kicked her.

“Oh, um, I thought that was supposed to be a secret.” Bean lied, lamely.   
“Cousin, as a family member, I am begging you to care for my unborn niece or nephew’s sake. After all, the king has already declared that Pendergast is to be executed, and I fear that should this occur, it would stop my dear sister in law from _ever_ being able to have children again, especially ones with our blood.”   
“I don’t know what you expect me to do. Derek is meant to rule after the king.” Chaddeus said crossly.

“Oh, wise and just cousin, you’re so right! But Derek has not yet come into his majority. Oh, cruel world, if only there were a man, who could… control the throne… related to us… with some blood tie to the throne… like a baby…” Blodeuwedd trailed off, staring at Chaddeus, who appeared to be deep in thought.   
“Cousin, I have just had a _brilliant_ idea.” Chaddeus said. “What if we put Pendergast and the princess on the throne instead?”

“Chaddeus, you’re utterly brilliant.” Blodeuwedd said, glancing at Bean so that she had an opportunity to roll her eyes.   
“I will, of course, need an apology from Pendergast himself. And closer ties with the, eh… royal couple. To this end, we will say that I knew about it from the beginning.”   
“What, like you were retroactively at the wedding?” Bean asked.   
“Yes, that will do nicely. Also, I will need a bride to be announced, so that I can save face.” Chaddeus waved dismissively. “Presumably, someone tied to the new dynasty.”

“Oh.” Blodeuwedd stared at him. “Uh…”   
“Unfortunately, Birdy’s getting married.” Bean lied quickly. “To, uh, someone else.”  
Chaddeus wrinkled his nose. “Ew, no, I don’t want her. She smells like horse.” He clapped his hands again, and a servant sprinted forward and sprayed Blodeuwedd liberally with perfume.  
Blodeuwedd stood, coughing. “…and of course, there’s the issue of consanguinity, dearest cousin.”   
“Yeah, that too, I guess.” Chaddeus said dismissively.

“So, uh… who do you want to marry…?” Bean asked, glancing at Blodeuwedd.   
“Thomas was in talks with Luke Dashley, yes?” Chaddeus said slowly, like she was stupid. “I will accept Miriam Dashley’s hand in marriage in a pinch, I suppose.”   
“Okay but that’s going to be up to her.” Bean huffed.   
“Her brother, yes.” Blodeuwedd amended.

Chaddeus looked befuddled. “Why would he say no?”   
“He won’t, but he still needs it to be brought up.” Blodeuwedd said quickly. “A formal announcement to save both your and Miriam Dashley’s reputations.”   
Chaddeus waved at her dismissively. “Whatever. That will be handled, I will collect some of my loyal men and tell them about my hand.”   
“Thank you, dearest cousin.” Blodeuwedd gushed. “We will go make everything ready for you.”

She curtsied so deeply that Bean felt it was sarcastic. Bean gave a very short half-bow, and then the two girls exited the tent.   
“So… he’s going to handle the social climbers, right?” Bean asked as they walked away.   
“Oh, definitely.” Blodeuwedd grinned, before leaning against a tent. “Hang on, I need to purge all the lies—” And that was the only warning Bean got before there was a stream of rapid-fire Welsh. Blodeuwedd seemed to be enjoying her truths more than Pendergast did when he truth-vomited. She stopped and then looked at Bean, tilting her head.

“What?” Bean asked.   
“Mm. Nothing. I’m just wondering… you had that weird bout of stomach sickness a few days ago, right?”   
“Ugh, don’t remind me. That minty stuff your mom gave me helps—I know it’s not _for_ that, but it does double duty—and I’m so used to it that it settles my stomach. And, you know, it doesn’t smell so minty that it feels like it’s going to burn off my nose hairs anymore. On the minus side though, I think it fucked with my system so much that I get queasy whenever I smell alcohol?”

“Hmm.” Blodeuwedd said, leaning forward, patting Bean’s tummy, and winking. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”   
“Won’t tell anyone what?” Bean asked.   
Blodeuwedd winked again. “ _Exactly_.”   
“…okay.” Bean said slowly.

He woke gasping for air, sweat clinging to his skin. The last time he’d been this hot, he was in the Lemon Crusades. He shakily— _weakly_ —tried to sit up. They’d take his eye, they were coming for him… no, no, they already took the eye. Didn’t they?

They were coming for her. His head swam as he sat up at the edge of his cot. They were coming for her—the princess? Why did the want the princess? Why didn’t they want her… everyone wanted her these days. Had to protect her… had to keep her safe…

“Pendergast?” Someone asked. A man. Big.   
Pendergast squinted at him. He seemed familiar, but his words were tinged with… not Welsh. Different inflection. Different was bad, different meant danger.   
He had to get out of there.   
“You’ll never take me alive.” Pendergast slurred.

The big man held up a complacent hand. “Well, I already have you.”   
Pendergast reached down to his boot, and bit back a scream as he felt a shiver creep down his spine, replacing the humidity swirling around him. He breathed deeply for a minute.   
“Pendergast?”   
He was spurred back to action by that. He pulled his knife quickly out of his boot, and leapt up, swiping wildly at the assailant.

Gentle hands caught him, and pulled the knife away. “Now, now, none of that. You’ll rip your stitches.”   
Pendergast snarled wordlessly, and threw himself against the body holding him.   
“Pendergast, calm down.”   
“Fuck you, you son of a bitch. I’ll kill you myself before I let you touch them.” Because, after all, not many people had the power to make him feel so helpless. Arwel was clearly haunting him.

The hands—Arwel had learned gentleness, but that wouldn’t save him!—placed him back on the bed. “Pendergast, you need to calm down.”   
Pendergast panted, wracked by pain and a burning cold. “No, no, I need to-I need to get out.”   
“I can’t understand you when you speak Welsh.”   
Pendergast squinted at the voice. “Don’t lie.”   
“I’m not lying.”   
“There, see! You understood me!”

“You are switching between English and Welsh. What you said earlier—presumably a lot of swear words, that was Welsh.”   
“Give me back my knife.” Pendergast ordered.   
“Will you try to stab me?”   
He was too sick to lie. “Yes.”

“Then I will not give you the knife back.”   
Pendergast hissed, and thrashed—before something caught his eye. The tent was dark, and half of his vision was gone, but there, in a bi of sunlight, stood an elf.   
“Elfo?” Pendergast asked.   
The elf, who was very pale, looked unnerved. “My name is Maredudd.”   
Pendergast stared at the elf. The elf stared back. Pendergast didn’t care if the hands-voice-wouldn’t give the knife back person was also staring.

“…Grandfather? Why are you an elf?”   
“Why… wouldn’t I be an elf?”   
Pendergast gasped, an epiphany forming. “Are you an old elf, or…?”   
“I’m… I think I’m old.” The elf continued, looking worried.

Epiphany cemented. “What happened to all of your colour?”   
“I… don’t know.”   
“She sucked it up, didn’t she?” Pendergast pressed, throwing an arm wide. “That’s why her hair is white! Everything becomes black and white around her, yes!”   
The elf nodded.   
“Except her eyes!” Pendergast was on a roll now. “No wonder they wanted to steal them! Her eyes are blue—and we live by the sea. Do you know what this means?”

“…what does it mean?” The hands-voice-wouldn’t give the knife back person asked slowly. It meant she was the sea, and she gave life to it. It meant she could kill easily, because the sea _does_ , and this explained everything (to Pendergast). But the sea was selfish. But he had to die, or lose his colour, because the sea doesn’t turn red-brown unless something’s wrong—ah. Wait. “It means she’s going to drown me.” Pendergast said with utmost confidence.

(He had forgotten that his lovely princess only steals colour from the elves, and that you need to die first.)   
“…what?” That was the big man, now that Pendergast could get a good look at him.   
“She’s going to drown me. It’s what she does—I’m going to die for her.” Pendergast tried to explain. “It’s fine! I’m going to come back as an elf.”   
“…what?”   
“When we die, we become elves. And then she sucks up our colour.” Pendergast explained impatiently, before his brain fired off another epiphany. Who was the most colourful—and therefore, youngest—elf he knew? Who had shown up at the exact moment the human had died near her?

“Elfo is Guysbert!” He hissed, before falling back on the bed.   
“I… don’t know who that is.” The big man—big like Arwel, now Pendergast remembered that he hated that, and so he hated this man who LIED about being GENTLE and not understanding WELSH—said.   
Pendergast glared at him, and tried to move away with the last bit of his strength, only to be put back on the cot. Utterly exhausted and defeated, Pendergast fell under once more, not even noticing as he was gently covered with a blanket, and Maredudd disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendergast's epiphanies are not correct. Please do not put any stock in them. 
> 
> Bruce is compartmentalizing. The not-elf is too much to deal with right now.


	39. Coup-peration (Part 2): The Return of the Google Translate Welsh

Meanwhile, David had gotten the men who specifically were trying to better their own images. He wasn’t really sure _why_ he had gotten the vain people, but it seemed that everyone else knew what they were doing without telling him. It was a bit rude, all things considered.

And that was how he found himself directed towards the center of camp, though not necessarily towards Chaddeus’ tent. There was a sort of large tent, that David first thought was meant to be a canteen of some sort. Upon poking his head in, he found that it was nothing like that. There were reflective pieces of metal hanging everywhere, creating a labyrinth of mirrors.

He could vaguely hear someone playing a congratulatory ballad further in. The tune was to a folk song, but the words were wrong. With a grimace, David slowly made his way in, edging around the dangling bits of mirrors. He could see various blond men through the turns of the mirrors, but they seemed too concerned with themselves to even listen to anything he had to say.

He finally made his way to the center (of sorts) of the tent. There was more space, and he could see the minstrel, plucking at a lute. Various blond men were still staring into reflective surfaces, and David made a face. However, next to the minstrel, there was a young man, about his age, with long dark hair tied away from his face. He was sat on the ground, studiously cleaning a sword, and David marched up to him, deciding he wasn’t doing anything too important.

“Hello, who do you work for?” David asked, trying to be cordial. He needed an in with the idiots, after all.   
The man—boy?—looked up. “No one.”   
“…you’re not a squire?”   
The other looked him over. “No more than you are. I am Alec Parkins.”   
“…oh.” David said, before clearing his throat, and extending a hand.   
Alec took it, and pulled himself up. David had not quite been expecting this, so he lamely shook the hand after Alec stood.

“David Griffiths, heir to the barony of Caer Griffiths.” David said formally.   
Alec squinted at him. “You weren’t the one who ran in one of the last races.”   
“No, that was my cousin—last races?”   
Alec shrugged. “That knight who calls the races hasn’t appeared. The princess isn’t at the racetrack either. Everything’s just… stopped.”

David grimaced. “Yes, Penny does seem to be holding everything together… look, I don’t really know how to go about this. I’m here to recruit people for a revolution—would you like to join?”   
“What? No! Of course not!” Alec snapped, pulling away. “What do you think this is?!”   
“A room full of men obsessed with themselves?” David deadpanned.

“This is a room of men concerned with their images. And I—I need to worry about that! My image—and my family’s!”   
David cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”   
“We’re not an old house, and we’re not a rich one.” Alec snapped. “We need—we need to not fall into obscurity.”   
“Well… treason isn’t obscure.”   
“You’re _insane_!”

David shrugged. “I also know that if we win… there will be honors there. And we _will_ win.”   
Alec scoffed. “You’re that confident?”   
“The only other option is death. Tell me, Parkins, what do you want?”   
“What are you offering? Surely I’m not the only one with you. I don’t want my family’s name to be lost in the crush as well.” Alec snapped.   
David paused. “Did you know… the Griffiths family is one of the oldest in Dreamland?”   
“You’re not rich.” Alec said bluntly.

“My cousin is married to the princess. I imagine that we will suddenly be wielding a lot more political influence. Besides, my second cousin is the heir to the duchy of Twinkletown. We’re doing better than you.”   
“Why are you flexing on me?” Alec asked. “Besides, everyone knows that rumor about the princess and Sir Pendergast by now.”   
“I’m not—wait, everyone?”

Alec shrugged. “The minstrels started singing a new ballad about it about 20 minutes ago. Everyone who cares to listen knows.”   
“…huh. Anyway, you still haven’t told me what you wanted.”   
“What would the price be?”   
“Wrangling these idiots into helping.” David replied. None of the idiots turned to look at them, still enamored with their own reflections.

“Why would you want them?” Alec finally asked.   
“Mostly to consolidate political power.” David said, though really he had wondered the exact same thing earlier. “This way, they’re not against us.”   
“So really, what would be _worth_ that?” Alec snarked. “Just arrange a bunch of peasants with babies for them to kiss—”   
“The peasants?”   
“No, the babies.”   
“Why would they kiss the babies?”

“It makes them look better in front of the peasants.” Alec explained. “That’s all they need. Validation and praise. They don’t really care for much else.”   
David shifted slightly. “…so, what do you want in exchange for that?”   
“What?”   
“Well, you gave me the secret to controlling the morons, and you still never answered my question.” David huffed.

Alec paused. “I… I want to be respected. I want my family to be more than a passing joke.”   
“And how are you going to take concrete action towards that?” David asked, because he assumed that this was how to make friends.   
The minstrel gently switched to a song that David had not heard before, but Alec evidently had. “Well, I _was_ going to try and marry the princess.”   
“…may I suggest… the princess’ beloved sister-in-law?” David asked. “My cousin, Blodeuwedd?”   
“You’re just _offering_ me your cousin?”

“Well, I’m offering you the _idea_. The details would have to be worked out.”   
“Apropos of _nothing_? I could-I could be the worst sort of scoundrel!”   
David shrugged. “Well, you really don’t seem like it. You’re a very honest sort, unless this has all been a lie? Besides, I’m not dragging you both off to the altar immediately. Granny would kill us all if she wasn’t invited to her _favorite’s_ wedding.”   
Alec chose to ignore the obvious bitterness from David, and instead hesitantly said, “See you tomorrow at 3 then?”   
“Works for me. …ah, bring the idiots, please.” David said, having just remembered his purpose but having somehow backed himself into the end of a conversation.

Meanwhile, Alice had walked into an open-air pavilion where various men were drinking. By the smell of it, and their behavior, it was incredibly expensive wine—the kind that her family used to sell.   
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”   
No one turned to look at her.   
She raised her voice slightly. “Excuse me?”

Some of the men on the fringes noticed her. One laughed. “Aren’t you a pretty one? Which brothel sent you?”   
Alice flushed, and took a step back. “I’m not—I’m married. I’m here to tell you about an opportunity.”   
“And what opportunity is that, pretty little married woman?”

Alice took a deep breath. “Rebellion.”   
She realized that they had had more of an audience than she had previously thought—the pavilion was suddenly filled with laughter.   
“And you tell jokes too!” The ringleader cooed. “How much would your husband take for you?”

Alice blushed again, this time in anger. What would Bean do? What would Blodeuwedd? “It’s not a joke!” She hissed, angry tears threatening to fall. But she couldn’t—she had to be strong. “The princess is going to take the throne from her father, and if you have any problem with the way that things are run now, it’s an opportunity to have them changed!”   
“Why would we have a problem with the way that things are run now?” Someone scoffed. “It benefits us.”

The one who had been propositioning her waved his hand dismissively. “No… there are some things. Land boundaries, taxes… guarantees of rights for our descendants.” All those things _sounded_ right, but Alice knew what they meant by it. Things that would benefit _them_ entirely, even at the expense of other nobles, much less the peasants they were meant to rule over _justly_.  
He gave Alice a chilling smile. “Run along, pretty little married woman. Tell your princess we will consider it.”   
Alice drew herself up to her full height. “My name is Alice Broderick Griffiths! And we’re not waiting on _you_ , either be there or don’t! It doesn’t _matter_ to us!”

She clenched her skirts in both hands, ready to run, but also so that she didn’t just _scream_.   
“Do you know who we are?” Someone scoffed.   
“That’s why I’m even offering this to you in the first place. We know. But we don’t _need_ you.” Alice’s heart beat furiously in her chest. She could _hope_ it was true, but she was mostly too angry and frightened to go about this any other way.   
The men stared at her. “We… what…? No, you need us.”

“If we _needed_ you, someone who knows diplomacy better than me would be here.” Alice huffed, anger still burning bright as the sun inside of her.   
“No one has ever _not needed us_.” One of them scoffed.   
Alice lifted her chin. “Go to Zog then. We don’t _care_. This was a courtesy, and you could not even return the favor of treating me politely.”

And then she walked away, her legs numb with fear, begging her to run. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—show them how scared she was now. She had done it, just like Bean or Blodeuwedd would have, and they’d be proud.

Speaking of Bean and Blodeuwedd, they had found a tent decorated with several different banners, though not the official ones. This created a sort of rainbow effect that Blodeuwedd squinted up at.   
“That’s a lot of houses here.” She muttered, before pushing Bean forward a bit.   
“Whoa, hey!”   
“Come on, you’re going to need to impress them, if someone isn’t already in there.”   
“Why me?!”   
“Because you’re the princess.”

“Well… you’re the princess’ sister-in-law!” Bean huffed. “Come on, you’re good at this stuff, and I’m… not.”   
Blodeuwedd shrugged. “It’s a skill, you get better at it.”   
“Yeah, but we need for me to be good at it _now_. And Pen is the one teaching me, and…” Bean trailed off, seeing Blodeuwedd pale. “And I’m worried I’m going to fuck this up for him, and you guys.” She finished lamely.   
“…what? But you’re… you’re _you_. You’re easily the coolest person I know!”

“That doesn’t translate to politics.”   
“Then treat it like it’s _not_ politics? Pen said last time you tried to do straight politics, it didn’t go well. He didn’t tell me what, but…” Blodeuwedd bit her lip and clenched her fists so hard that the knuckles turned white.   
“He knows about that?” Bean asked. Because Pen was still in present tense, because he was _not dead_. And not dying.   
“Not the details, I don’t think.” Blodeuwedd said. “What’d you even do?”

Bean laughed nervously. “I don’t even really remember, but I’m banned from Dankmire for not only this life, but for my next three reincarnations, apparently.”   
Blodeuwedd laughed despite herself, then looked surprised.   
Whatever Bean was going to say to this was cut off by the appearance of a man poking his head out from the tent. He eyed them both critically. “Why are you here?”

“To talk to Miriam Dashley—someone said she’d be here?” Bean tried.   
The man visibly relaxed. “Oh, you’ve come for her court. Sorry, it’s just… we’re used to bachelorette parties.”   
“Bachelorette parties?” Blodeuwedd repeated.   
“Drunk women who want to be sexually active without the fear of straight men taking advantage of them come to us…” The man trailed off.   
“Are you prostitutes then?” Bean asked. “It’s okay if you are. Some of my best friends are prostitutes.”

“No. We are not prostitutes.” The man said coldly.   
“I said it was okay if you were!”   
“Maybe I should have been clearer. Those drunk women come to us because they _know_ we won’t reciprocate their attentions. It’s a way for them to act out without repercussions. We are not interested in them, even if we’re being paid.” The man said slowly, glaring daggers at them.   
“…oh. Um, what do you want us to do about it?” Bean asked.

The man sighed. “Nothing, really. It’s just… easy to assume that’s what you meant—just go in, already. I’m not the door-peasant.”   
“Um, thanks for holding the door open, then?” Bean said, as she and Blodeuwedd squeezed past him.   
He waved them off dismissively, before disappearing.

The tent was full of men—reclining and reading, talking, laughing, eating, generally doing various things that didn’t seem to have a theme to them. In a corner of the room sat a woman about Bean’s age, with dark skin and black hair tied back in a sensible braid, reading something and drinking from a steaming mug that smelled vaguely spicy as they got closer.

She looked up, then stood, slipping into a neat curtsy.   
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” Bean said quickly.   
“Far be it for me to sit while a queen comes to see me.” Her mouth quirked up slightly.   
“I’m not a queen.” Bean protested.

“Not yet.” The woman corrected. “Might I offer you some chai?”   
“Chai?” Blodeuwedd repeated.   
The woman looked down at her mug. “A drink from even further east than my mother.” She gave a quick, light smile, indicating they were meant to do the same. “My father was—and remains—an explorer of all the world has to offer. I became quite partial to it when he brought the concept back to us several years ago.”

“Uh… we’re not here to talk about that.” Bean said. “Are you Miriam Dashley?”   
“Blunt.” The woman noted, cocking her head. “I am, yes. Most of the time at this… tournament, I have been running a table of sorts, for women looking for good men. I expected to see you sooner, Blodeuwedd Griffiths.”   
“I… why?” Blodeuwedd asked, taken aback.   
“Please, sit.” Miriam said, gesturing to empty chairs nearby.

Bean moved to get them, and Blodeuwedd winced. Miriam did nothing, simply watching.   
“Because you’re here for the same thing that most of us are.” Miriam finally said, sitting down in her previous chair after Bean sat. Blodeuwedd hesitated, then sat as well.   
“No, I mean… how do you know my name?”   
“You should have said what you meant.” Miriam chided softly. “And I think you’d find that I’m rather good at observing. I helped my brother run Dashwood County for years.”

“Wait, your brother can’t be more than… 25.” Bean guessed.   
Miriam nodded.   
“How did he rule for _years_?” Bean finished.   
Miriam sipped her chai. “My parents are in good health, if that’s what you’re wondering. They simply are infected with… wanderlust. Luke and I have had to step up.”   
“And you’re… my age?” Blodeuwedd said hesitantly.

“No, I am four years older than you. Cyra, our youngest sibling, is your age. She is back home.” Miriam said. “So, what brings you—so _bluntly_ —to my table? I hear you’re already married, your majesty.”   
“How did you… yeah. I am.” Bean said. “We’re here to ask you if you would consider marrying Chaddeus. Or just… meeting with him once, I guess?”   
Miriam smiled, but this one was more grim, and less airy. “Hm. I didn’t know you’d become his lackeys.”   
“We need him to get the social climbers in line.” Blodeuwedd sighed.

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see that the bluntness is a negotiating tactic that you _both_ wield. I will give you this for free—you have let me name the terms for this. You have let me know that you need me. And furthermore, you have revealed how desperate you are about it, by refusing to let the conversation flow naturally.”   
“We don’t know you well enough to know what you want.” Bean pointed out.   
“And that is another mistake.” Miriam said, before eying them both critically. “You don’t even really know what Chaddeus wants.”

“He wants a nice, pretty wife, who will look at him like he’s hung the moon.” Blodeuwedd snorted.   
Miriam nodded slightly. “And when my hair is gray, and my eyes are faded, he will still expect me to stay by his side. When I am out of the room, no longer adoring him openly, he will still want me. Access to Dashwood through me is greater than any other prize.”   
“What’s so great about Dashwood in particular?”   
“It’s up against Twinkletown’s duchy borders, and Luke is not likely to have an heir of his own, for… obvious reasons.” Miriam pointed out. “My eldest son is likely to inherit. Twinkletown could absorb us effortlessly within a few generations.”

“Whoa, he’s playing the long game.” Bean said.   
Miriam smiled behind her mug. “Your majesty, may I ask about your council decisions yet?”   
“Uh… what?” Bean said, eloquently.   
“Who would be your chancellor, to handle diplomacy? Who would handle administration as your steward? One could assume that Sir Pendergast would retain his position as your marshal, but who would be your spymaster?”

“Odval handled all that stuff for my dad…” Bean said slowly.   
“The kingdom is not doing well though.” Miriam said gently. “It’s better to delegate, and use advisors to guide you when you can. …you don’t have to carry this all yourself, you know?”   
“Besides, Odval is part of the problem. He has to go.” Blodeuwedd huffed. Bean conceded this point.   
“If you have not given it any thought yet, I would like to request that, in exchange for my hand in marriage, I become your spymaster.” Miriam said. “You will remember that I said I am very good at getting information. And I imagine your diplomacy would recover greatly when you know about who you’re facing.”

“That’s it?” Bean asked suspiciously.   
Miriam flashed a quick grin. “Well, I imagine you’ll be inundated with other requests regarding land ownership inheritance. It is Luke’s responsibility to make sure that Dashwood remains in Dashley hands, after all. Besides, a posting in the capital would mean that I would not have to see my… loving husband too often. I imagine it would suit him as well, given enough time to understand. That, or he would have to admit that he was wrong.”   
Blodeuwedd started giggling. “Christ, you’re going to be married to him _forever_!”

“Where are you going to get all this information?” Bean asked.   
Miriam shrugged. “The same places I already do. Women. Servants paid a little extra more to keep their eyes open. Wives grateful to me for arranging marriages letting little details slip in casual letters. Streetwalkers who get an hour’s worth of money just to hear what some men think is only pillow talk. They don’t pay attention to us, and that’s the way that I like it. I imagine that your grandmothers thought something similar.”

“I… you know about that?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
Miriam shrugged. “It’s my job to know things. Besides, when I was 12, I was assigned to be a lady in waiting for Lady Lingonberry. I suppose I became her protégé, of sorts.”   
“Is she… still active?” Bean hedged.  
“That’s a question for her, don’t you think? Besides, I’ve been entirely too forthright for one conversation already.”

Blodeuwedd could sense where this was going. “But… does that mean we’re going to talk about boring lady things now?”   
Miriam laughed. “Cyra would love you. Boring lady things, as you put them, can be excellent for dropping little details. The body language, the careful wording, the almost… coding… of the conversation… it’s really how I got my start. Though, I suppose neither of you are too traditional.”   
“Neither are you.” Bean pointed out.   
Miriam shook her head. “No, I am as traditional as they come. Perhaps you’ve simply never looked too hard at what was expected of you, and what you could do with it.”

“You can’t do anything with it!” Blodeuwedd complained.   
Miriam shrugged again. “If people expect something, then they won’t look too far if it looks like you’re doing it. Besides, you still have massive administrative power. The wife runs the home, and for noblewomen like us, that means taking care of the servants, any repairs that need to be done, the children’s education and care, balancing the books, and in many cases prepping for future things; such as having grain ready to be stored for winter and for spring planting, and dealing with emergencies when they come. That is all _expected_ , on top of being a good hostess when the situation arises. Peasant women—” She was interrupted by Thomas and Luke entering.

“Oh, thank God, the lecture’s over.” Bean muttered as Blodeuwedd waved.  
Miriam’s mouth twisted. “We can’t all go running around without responsibility, your majesty.”   
“Wh-hey! I thought you were cool with me!” Bean said.   
Miriam sighed. “It’s not that simple. I can’t believe I have to—I will always respect you, but I am worried that you are a repetition of your father if you don’t fundamentally realize that your way isn’t the best way.”   
Bean flushed in embarrassment. “Hey! I’m not that bad!”

“Then you recognize that some of us taking pride in what we have isn’t bad?”   
“But you’re _cool_ , you’re using that stuff to strike back!” Bean hissed as Blodeuwedd got up to go talk to Thomas and Luke.   
“I’m using the space accorded to me to _continue_.” Miriam said, almost gently. “It’s not a bad thing, to be a woman and proud of it.”   
“But I _am_ proud of it!”   
“We cannot all be warriors.”

“I know that!” Bean huffed. “I’m just… I’m not good at diplomacy, or administration, or any of this stuff! I’m good at fighting—and fighting for what I think is right too!”   
“And that’s why you’re the queen, and have a council.” Miriam pointed out. “A council that I would be honored to be part of.”

Bean blinked owlishly at her, then nodded once. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Meanwhile, Blodeuwedd had bounded over to Thomas. “Is Penny doing okay?”   
“We saw him when you last did.” Thomas huffed. “So I assume so.”   
“Then what are you guys doing here?” Blodeuwedd asked.   
“Getting support for the princess, you?” Luke asked cordially.   
Blodeuwedd shifted. “Getting your sister to marry Chaddeus.”

“ _Oof_.” Thomas said, eloquently. “Why do you hate the poor girl?”   
Blodeuwedd punched his shoulder. “She agreed to do it, shut up!”   
“What did you promise her?” Luke asked.   
“Uh… a position on Bean’s council, and you’re supposed to ask about land inheritance laws yourself.” Blodeuwedd said, shifting slightly.

Luke sighed. “Well, that’s a lot better than I was expecting. Actually…” He clapped his hands loudly, drawing the attention of the men in the tent.   
“Hey! Luke! You got a boyfriend!” One of them called.   
All the men cheered.

“No, I mean—well, yes, but…” Luke looked flustered. “That’s not what I’m trying to tell you about!”   
“Alright, Luke!” One of them whooped.   
“He’s hot! Good for you, Luke!”   
“I know he’s hot—that’s not the point!” Luke hissed at no one in partciular.

Thomas flushed. “W-well what is the point, then?”   
“Wh… well, I mean, of course you’re hot…”   
Blodeuwedd clapped her hands loudly, drawing attention back to her. “See that lady with the white hair sitting with Miriam?”   
Everyone turned to look. Bean gave a little wave.

“That’s the princess Tiabeanie. We’re trying to overthrow the king. If you want anything, now is the time to say it.” Blodeuwedd continued.   
“You have a lot to learn about bargaining.” Miriam noted.   
“You’re going to overthrow the king?!” Someone demanded.

Bean stood. “Look, I’m not doing this because I want power. I’m doing this because my dad is unfair, and even after Pen—Pendergast—did everything he could for him, he still tried to throw him away like he was nothing.”   
“You want us to risk ourselves for _your_ boyfriend?”   
“I don’t want anyone to be risked! I don’t even want my dad to be hurt, he’s still my dad! But my dad isn’t a good king! And this is your chance to actually have change made—and be _listened_ to, because he’s sure as hell not going to do it! So what do you want to change?!”

There was silence for a moment, then Miriam cleared her throat. “I think the ability to choose one’s heir—especially if they were adopted—would work well for a start.”   
“Okay, that works. Birdy, can you write that down?” Bean asked.   
“Uh…” Blodeuwedd disappeared into the crowd of men, but Bean saw a small thumbs-up a minute later.   
“Anyone else?” Bean asked.

“Recognition of civil partnerships!”   
“Partners getting widow’s rights!”   
Men yelled out at the same time.  
“Uh… wait… sorry?” Bean said. “Can you say that one at a time?”

“Of course, she does actually need to be crowned first.” Someone pointed out. It sounded suspiciously like Luke making his voice sound deeper.   
“Maybe we should all tell Blodeuwedd our ideas.” That was definitely Thomas, poorly disguising his voice. “Especially since she’s already taking them down—ow! Birdy, stop it! Stoooooop! Peidiwch â fy nharo!” Yep, definitely Thomas.   
“Rydych chi'n fabi mawr. Prin y gallaf gyffwrdd â chi, rydych chi wedi'ch adeiladu fel tŷ.” Blodeuwedd scoffed quietly.   
“So, what did you guys want again?” Bean asked, clearing her throat. “Just for the future?”

Meanwhile, David had made it back to the tent. He had been planning to lie back, maybe have a nap, but unfortunately, that was not to be.   
Bruce had Pendergast in what was later described as a loving and gentle stranglehold, and Pendergast was, for his part, yelling in Welsh, clawing at the air. It seemed that he was yelling orders to men about protecting the princess, which David didn’t find _too_ odd. At first. He found it odd afterward when Pendergast started mentioning the queen, but that wasn’t any of David’s business.

He almost didn’t notice Maredudd the not-elf, hiding under his cot.   
But notice he did.   
“What are you doing here?” He asked softly, in English.   
“Bydd hi'n lladd pob un ohonom!” Pendergast roared, albeit hoarsely, in the background.   
David ignored him.

“I came to see you.” Maredudd said. “But… they saw me instead.”   
David glanced at his cousin. “He doesn’t seem like he’ll remember.”   
Pendergast was flushed and his eye unfocused, and he seemed almost limp, even as he was fighting hard.   
“Shh shh shh now.” Bruce said.

“And I don’t think the other one will be a problem.” David finished.   
“Rhaid i mi ei hachub! Cyn iddi gael ei throi at garreg!” Pendergast growled.   
David turned to look at him. “Pam fyddai hi'n cael ei throi at garreg?”   
“Because her mother is crazy! She turned me to stone and now ni allaf ei hachub!” Pendergast tried to fight harder, switching from English to Welsh at the same time.  
Bruce merely sighed and squeezed him gently. "Sleep now. You need to rest."

“He’s been like this for a bit now.” Maredudd said quietly.   
David felt cold. “I… why did you want to see me?”   
Maredudd stared up at him. “You gave me a name.” Maybe that was enough to earn this little creature’s loyalty, maybe not.   
“Please. Help him.” David begged. “Fix him.”

Maredudd slowly turned to look at Pendergast. “But then he’ll go back to being the shining knight.”   
“Yes.” David said.   
Maredudd’s face was always blank, but right now it seemed particularly unimpressed. “You want this?”   
“Please. He’s my cousin, I have to… I have to _do_ something.” Because, if he didn’t, who would he be? He couldn’t provide for his wife. He couldn’t get allies without promises. He couldn’t even help bring Pendergast’s fever down.

It wasn’t really for Pendergast. It was for Blodeuwedd, mostly, because seeing her like that had scared him. It was for everyone’s hard work. It was for… it was for when he was little, and he would play with his cousins, before lessons from his parents about who he was and what he was expected to be. It wasn’t about this strange, feverish man he hadn’t seen in years. But, it was about family.

And maybe that’s why Maredudd returned after dark with a glowing amulet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation corner: 
> 
> Peidiwch â fy nharo! -- _Don’t hit me!_  
>  Rydych chi'n fabi mawr. Prin y gallaf gyffwrdd â chi, rydych chi wedi'ch adeiladu fel tŷ. -- _You’re a big baby. I can hardly touch you, you’re built like a house._  
>  Bydd hi'n lladd pob un ohonom! -- _She’ll kill us all!_  
>  Rhaid i mi ei hachub! Cyn iddi gael ei throi at garreg! -- _I have to save her! Before she’s turned to stone!_  
>  Pam fyddai hi'n cael ei throi at garreg? -- _Why would she be turned to stone?_  
> ...ni allaf ei hachub! -- _…I can’t save her!_


	40. There's lots of yelling!! Everybody stop yelling!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce went back to his tent, so he's not here. Also, he doesn't like yelling.
> 
> Pigs actually can physically shed tears! Apparently!

It happened like this.

Maredudd had disappeared after David’s request, because they had gotten what they had come for. The White Queen was in one of her scary-happy states recently, which meant that somewhere along the way, something was going well for her. Maredudd did not know what, but they _did_ know that the White Queen liked to stamp out others’ happiness. Ergo, Maredudd had been worried that their secret friend—their _name-giver_ —had been hurt.

And he hadn’t been, but he was worried about the Shining Knight. So Maredudd slipped away, and pondered what to do. The White Queen had told them all, long ago, that they owed her. Owed her for bringing them back, for keeping them safe. Well, if they owed _her_ , then they owed the Pretending Boy. The only thing was, they didn’t understand anything about human biology. There was one thing that might work, though.

So, Maredudd snuck away from the White Queen’s staring eyes and stole the amulet from the Underestimated Wizard. They had shaken it, trying to remember how to activate it, when they recalled the blood of the elves. Fine. Maredudd had snuck away, to Elftowne district, and had stolen a bloody cloth from the laundry basket of the Elfin Princess. There was enough to squeeze into the vial without having to rehydrate the blood, which Maredudd had worried about. Water was life, yes, but who knew what it would do in _there_?

And then it began to _glow_ , and feel… odd in Maredudd’s hand. They fought the urge to hiss and scowl at the _unnatural_ light. This was something that should never have existed in the first place, it was an affront to the order of things. Things were meant to stay dead. _Maredudd_ was meant to stay dead. So, their death, and the amulet’s light fought, all the way to the tent where they presented it to the Pretending Boy without comment.

“What is it?” David had asked, quietly so as not to wake people.  
“Magic.” Maredudd resisted the urge to spit the word. “It-it made him better. Before.”  
“Before? Before when?”  
“When he was a rock.” Didn’t David know about that?

David hesitantly took the amulet, and Maredudd relaxed. “So it… didn’t… ruin him before?”  
Maredudd shrugged.  
“Is it dangerous?” David finally asked.  
“All magic is dangerous.” Maredudd replied. “I don’t… it’s not kind, bringing back the dead. I don’t like it.”  
“Do you do this often, then?”  
“No.”

David bit his lip. “It won’t… make him immortal, will it?”  
Maredudd shrugged again.  
“Just until the fever’s broken.” David said, almost to himself. “Do I… touch it to him? Am I going to be immortal now?”  
Maredudd shook their head. “The circle is the worst part. It needs to encircle him to work the magic.”  
David held up the amulet. “This… little rope bit?”

Maredudd hissed as the light hit them more. “Woven and binding the magic, yes! He must be bound by the rope for the contract to be completed!”  
“Contract? What contract?” David demanded.  
“All magic has contracts.” Maredudd said slowly. Did humans not have magic? No—they did. They owed the White Queen for whenever she brought them back. They _owed_ her, because of what she had freely chosen to give.  
“What did you give up for this?”

“Not me.” Maredudd said, shaking their head. “Never me.”  
David looked them over for a minute, before sliding the amulet around the Shining Knight’s neck. Then he held a hand to his forehead. to his forehead. Suddenly, he whipped the pendant off, before the glow had faded.  
“He’s not going to be… something unnatural now, is he?” David asked.  
Maredudd looked at the pendant. “The pendant _is_ unnatural.”  
“But he’s still—he’s still Penny, isn’t he?” David seemed so young.

Maredudd wanted to nod, because that was what David wanted. But, they walked over to the Shining Knight, and scratched a limp hand. Just enough to draw blood. It didn’t close immediately, like it would have done if immortality was still screeching through the Shining Knight’s veins. He wasn’t _wrong_ yet, not like the White Queen. Finally, they nodded.

David gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Maredudd. Thank you.”  
“You gave me a name.” Maredudd said by way of explanation. They didn’t need gratitude.  
“And you saved all of us.” David said, before handing back the horrible pendant. “Without Penny, this would be… a lot more tenuous than I think some of them realize. Um… can you please… sever the binding, or whatever you call it?”  
Maredudd blinked up at him. Severing the binding would be almost worse than smashing the crystal. “It won’t be able to be used again.”

“It… it shouldn’t be.” David finally said. “But do what you think is best.”  
Maredudd looked at the binding, avoiding the glow of the crystal as best they could. They could snap it, just a few threads. The magic would leak, but not all at once. The wizard wouldn’t even notice.  
“Yes.” Maredudd finally said. “Thank you.”  
“You don’t have to thank—” Maredudd was already out of David’s sight.

And then it happened like this.

Pendergast slept until dawn, when his internal clock woke him up. He sat up, and looked around. He had a very vague understanding of the previous day’s events, none of which explained why his leg wasn’t sore at all. Or other old wounds ached less. Regardless, he didn’t seem… _immortal_ , given what his feverish, sleepy mind had overheard in what he had assumed to be a dream. But, no matter if he was immortal or not, he had something very, very important to do.

He swung his legs over the side of the cot, then softly gathered what things he could see in the dim light of the sun peeking through the opening of the tent, and sputtering candles. He pulled on his boots, recovered his knife from a table, then paused at seeing his armor. No, he wouldn’t need it right now, and he could always come back later, when everyone was awake.

What he did do was put his sister in a fireman carry before laying her down on his previously occupied cot. Blodeuwedd had fallen asleep in a chair nearby.  
“Mmph… Penny?” She said sleepily. “That you?”  
“Hush. You’ll wake the others. I’ll be back soon, I just have some business to attend to.”  
“That’s what you said the last time…” She muttered, before turning over on her side and falling back asleep.  
Pendergast hesitated, then pulled a nearby blanket over her. Then he left.

He headed into the city, glancing around at people openly staring at him. Odd, but not worth causing a scene over. Besides, it was just the peasants who _had_ to be up at dawn—the bakers, the stableboys, the cooks… And there, behind a tavern—but more the kind that sold stew than the kind that the cat ran—was Merkimer in his little shelter, snoring slightly.

Pendergast knocked on it.  
“Hmm? What do you want? I’m not wearing ribbons…” Merkimer said sleepily.  
“I need to talk to you.”  
“Mmm… later…”  
“No, Merkimer. Now. I’ll buy you food?” Pendergast said.  
Merkimer opened one eye. “Real food? People food?”

“Yes.”  
“This _must_ be serious.” Merkimer noted, before exiting his little shelter and slipping into his chartreuse sweater. “I want bread and jam, by the way.”  
“That’s it?” Pendergast asked.  
“ _Fresh_ bread.” Merkimer stressed.

“Definitely doable.” Pendergast said, buying a loaf for Merkimer and a small pot of jam. He cut slices with his knife, and slathered them with jam, before feeding them to his small workplace acquaintance. Merkimer ate in silence, which Pendergast wasn’t keen to break yet. When the loaf was finished, Pendergast cleaned his knife, resheathed it, and put it back in his boot. The jam jar was tucked into Merkimer’s shelter for later.

“So, let’s talk.” Merkimer said, watching him.  
Pendergast sighed. “Can we… talk near Guysbert?”  
“Oh. I knew it was serious when you agreed to give me real food, but… yes, of course.”  
Again, the silence, and again, Pendergast ignored the stares as they walked through the town, near to the gate. Guysbert had been buried on a little hill, overlooking the city. There was a marker that Mertz had carved—the man couldn’t fight to save his life, but no one would say his carvings weren’t amazing—and some wilting flowers from when Merkimer and Alice had been there before.

Merkimer sat down next to his brother’s grave. “So, what is it?”  
Pendergast took a deep breath. “I am sorry to inform you that Sir Corian is dead.”  
Merkimer looked at Guysbert’s grave, then back at Pendergast. “I… _what_?”  
“He fell in battle, fighting for his country.” Pendergast continued, begging Merkimer to understand without him having to say it.  
“How do you know that?” Merkimer demanded. “Did you get a letter?”

Pendergast slowly shook his head.  
Merkimer nodded slowly. “I… I see. You killed him.”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
“He was coming into Dreamland. He was going to hurt the princess.”

“You don’t know that! He could have been coming for me!” Merkimer snapped.  
“Merkimer, you’re not a prisoner.” Pendergast said softly.  
“No?” Merkimer scoffed. “I’ll die here all the same. This place is poison for Bentwood.”  
“I’m sorry.” Pendergast said. It felt empty.

“No you’re not. You’d do it again, for her.” Merkimer huffed. “In a heartbeat.”  
“…this isn’t about me.” Pendergast said, because he didn’t want to lie even if he could.  
Merkimer snorted. “A knight and his royal lady… tell me, sir Pendergast, did you think he looked familiar?”  
“I… what?” Pendergast asked.  
“Corian. Before you killed him.” Merkimer said, before looking at Guysbert’s grave pointedly. “He did, didn’t he? Strange that, given all the measures they took to make sure he wouldn’t come to that thrice-cursed wedding, so that no one could compare.”

“What are you implying?” Pendergast asked.  
“I’m implying that even _if_ I had married your darling murderess as you both feared, I would have ended up just like my own father. Cuckolded by a knight.” Merkimer scoffed. “I was thirteen when I looked at Guysbert and Corian side by side, and realized that they had the same nose. And I… I didn’t. I had Lorenzo’s. And I hated Guysbert for it.”  
“For being a bastard?”  
“For having a father who loved him.” Merkimer spat.

“He loved you too.”  
“But I wasn’t _his_. No, as always, Guysbert had everything.” Merkimer made a snuffling noise, and Pendergast realized with a start that tears were beginning to roll down his snout. “He had everything except a brother, and again I find myself envious!”  
“Of who?”  
“Of you! Of-of Thomas Griffiths, because he knew _better_ than I did. When my brother died, I stepped over his still warm corpse and tried to claim a throne. He didn’t deserve that. Any of that. But your brother? You weren’t—aren’t—dead, and he still threatened to bring Zog’s castle down around his ears! I’m… ashamed.” Merkimer admitted.  
“What?” Pendergast asked, a sudden roaring sound in his ears that didn’t quite sound like the sea.

Merkimer glared at him. “What, you think I should be proud of what I did? I didn’t admit that this was my fault out of some misguided sense of humility. It is. I did this to myself, and it’s no wonder they’ve all abandoned me. I’m going to die here, Pendergast. And I deserve it.”  
“No, I meant the part where Thomas threatened the king.” Pendergast said. “…and I’m sure you don’t deserve it. You regret it, after all.”  
“I regret the consequences.” Merkimer sneered.

“Have you considered finding a witch?” Pendergast asked.  
Merkimer snorted again. “Pendergast, I eat scraps and live in a box. I have two objects to my name—the most hideous sweater known to man, and my… I’m not giving up my crown. Not for anything. It’s the only thing I have to remind me that I’m human. I can’t hire out my services, unless the witch in question wants help finding truffles. In conclusion, I have nothing to _pay_ a witch with.”  
“I could pay.” Pendergast offered. “You could pay me back when you’re human.”

Merkimer turned away. “No. No. I don’t want to become Lorenzo’s son again, and king after him. Maybe someday. Maybe not. You’re Catholic, you know what penance is.”  
“Maybe you need to stop thinking of yourself as a pig.” Pendergast suggested.  
“And maybe I need a kiss from a lovely maiden.” Merkimer scoffed. “Forget it. Can you leave me be with my broth—my _half_ -brother?”

“In a minute. What did you mean by Thomas threatening the king?” Pendergast repeated.  
“Oh. Right. You were hurried away after that. Seems your lovely murderess is planning a coup against her own father, egged on by your brother.”  
“ _What_?!”  
Merkimer settled himself in the fresh grass beside Guysbert’s mound. “They’ve spent the last day and a half gathering support while you were unconscious. Apparently, the meeting’s meant to take place today.”

Pendergast rubbed his temples. “What meeting?”  
“The meeting with all of the potential vassals on how they’re going to storm the castle.”  
“Good Christ, they’ll be slaughtered.”  
“Will they? I had no idea that Turbish and Mertz were so competent as to fight off an army of noblemen.”  
“But… the castle defenses…”  
Merkimer shrugged. “Didn’t you once rant to me about your charming murderess getting past _all_ of the defenses to steal the tax money?”

“Stop calling her that.”  
“I’ll call her what I like, she killed the man who I spent years wishing was my real father.” Merkimer snapped.  
“ _I_ killed him.”  
“For her!” Merkimer shook his head. “And now she’ll kill her father. For you.”

“She wouldn’t.”  
“This is in your name! You may not have committed any of this, but you’re just as culpable!” Merkimer snapped.  
Pendergast paled, then rose to his feet. He took off sprinting before Merkimer could comment further. Merkimer laid down properly, his head turned towards Guysbert’s grave. “I’m sorry.” He muttered to his brother. “I’m so so sorry.”  
The wind rustled through the grass, and Merkimer took a deep breath. But it didn’t whisper any comfort to him, and he resigned himself to simply being able to cry in peace.

At the Griffiths tent, people had woken up. Mostly when Blodeuwedd had awoken, found herself in Pendergast’s bed, and had begun waking others up.  
“He’s gone!” Blodeuwedd hissed when David tried to pull his pillow over his head.  
“Who?” David mumbled.  
“Pendergast!” Blodeuwedd shook his arm.  
“He’s _fine_! Stuck a pendant on him…”

Naturally, David was forced to explain, trying to leave Maredudd out of it. Which led to a bit more arguing. Which led to the eventual admission by Blodeuwedd that she thought she had been dreaming when she saw Pendergast earlier.  
“But he looked fine?” Bean demanded.  
“The stupid eternity pendant was used. He’s fine.” David said shortly. “Probably normal as well. This is good! We need him to be _not dead_!”

“He’s running around with a major injury!” Thomas shot back. “How does that help anyone?!”  
“The Eternity Pendant probably fixed him. Right, David?” Bean broke in.  
“It did! I didn’t even keep it on too long in case it made him… unnatural!”  
“Unnatural _how_?” Thomas sneered.  
“Living longer than any man should!” David snapped back. “More magic than man! He’s _fine_!”  
“He’s not fine! He’s running around in the middle of a coup not knowing what side he’s on!” Blodeuwedd hissed.

“And whose fault is that?!” David shot back. “ _You_ were the last one to see him!”  
“Everyone _stop_!” Bean called before Blodeuwedd could fire back. “We might have a bigger problem—what if he went to my dad?! Okay, how are we going to stop him? Find him?”  
“If he’s gone to the castle, it’s already too late.” David snarked.

“Um, is this a bad time?” A new voice interrupted.  
Everyone turned. David grimaced.  
Alec, who owned the voice, shrank back. “Um, I know the uh… treason meeting is later, but I just wanted a chance to… get the lay of the land, I suppose.”  
David smoothed his face. “Yes, this is good, actually. Everyone, this is Alec Parkins. Alec, this is my cousin Blodeuwedd.”

“Okay? What does this have to do with Pendergast?” Blodeuwedd demanded.  
“Nothing. He has to do with _you_.” David said smoothly.  
Bean cringed visibly.  
Blodeuwedd looked between Alec and David, shock dawning on her face. “You… what? Is this because of how I feel about Alice?! Is that why they more or less have the same name!?”  
“I can come back later.” Alec said.  
“Or not.” Blodeuwedd huffed.

“Blodeuwedd!” David huffed, hands on his hips. “That’s not how we treat guests! Not everything is about you!”  
“You’re trying to marry me off!” Blodeuwedd screamed. “Because I’m in love with your wife!”  
“You’re _what_?” David gasped.  
Alec promptly disappeared. Blodeuwedd looked around, her gaze landing on Alice, who bit her lip, twisting her hands in her skirt.

“Alice?” Blodeuwedd asked softly.  
“I’m married.” Alice said softly. “And… you know I love you, but… I love David more.”  
“Oh.” Blodeuwedd said, before turning on her heel and running out of the tent.  
“…yikes.” Thomas said.  
“Should I have replied differently?” Alice asked, still looking nervous.

“No! Blodeuwedd’s feelings are _her_ responsibility.” David sniffed. “You’re not obliged to love her. Or me, for that matter, but well… we _are_ married.” This last part was quieter than the rest, and his brown eyes were full of anxiety.  
Thomas clapped his hands together loudly. “Well, this is all very fascinating, but Pendergast _is_ still missing, and now Blodeuwedd has run God knows where. And there’s a stranger who wants to marry her! Hopefully these two statements are mutually exclusive and do not lead us back around to the rapist bandit scenario.”

“He seems like a good lad, not like that Marlowe creature!” David snapped.  
“You didn’t even ask your cousin if she wanted… I forget his name. Boy Alice?” Bean waved her hand towards the opening of the tent.  
“He is more than simply his name!” David waved his hands in the air angrily. “All I was trying to do was give her an _option_ —her age! Polite! Obviously not a seducer of women! What were the rest of you planning to do about it! …not you, Alice, my love. You are a treasure. But you two! What, did you think she’d spend the rest of her life in a convent? She’s the _sister-in-law_ of a soon to be crowned queen! Marriage was already on the table for her _before_ you landed ass backwards in our lives! There’s going to be all sorts of pressure on her, and Granny would be more willing to listen to _his_ suit if he’s got a foot in the door!”

“We don’t know who the hell he is!” Thomas thundered.  
“Well, you didn’t even bother to talk to him!” David shouted back. “I never do good enough, but you know what?! Fuck you! I was trying to find her someone that she wouldn’t be scared of marrying, and I did it in a matter of hours! The rest of you—yes! Including Pendergast! Who is clearly _fine_ , given that he’s walking about under his own power and the king hasn’t paraded his head in front of us, or had us all arrested! Anyway, the rest of you are content to sit on your hands and just let the matter lie, but that doesn’t mean others will! And if the only suits she gets are from old men trying to consolidate their power, guess what’s going to happen!” With that, David stomped out of the tent as well.

He poked his head back in. “Again, not you Alice. You are a spot of sunshine in an otherwise stormy and grey world, and you make me indescribably happy with a simple smile.” Then he left.  
Alice promptly ran after him.  
“So, do you want to go after Penny, or Birdy?” Thomas asked Bean nonchalantly.  
Thankfully, Pendergast solved this conundrum for them by barrelling in. “Bean! I need to talk to you!”  
Thomas cracked his neck. “Guess I’ll handle Birdy then.” On his way out, he punched Pendergast in the arm. “That was for making us worry, dickface.”  
“I’ll handle you later!” Pendergast snapped at his brother’s retreating back. Unfortunately, this left him unprepared for Bean, who more or less launched herself at him.

He promptly fell onto his back, with her taking advantage of the situation to straddle him.  
“Careful!” He groaned.  
“I thought you were dead!” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her arm, her free hand curling into his shirt. “I thought you were dying, and I had to keep it together because Birdy was making herself _sick_ worried about you, and she did all she could!”  
“I never meant to… wait, no! I’m angry at _you_!” Pendergast growled, sitting up. She promptly fell into his lap.

“Mad at me? Why?” She asked as he extricated himself and stood.  
He offered her a hand, which she took. “Because you committed treason, in my name.” He snarled. “Do you have any idea what that means? For me especially?”  
She crossed her arms, and stood her ground. “Yeah, it means that my dad—who you worked for, really well, for years!—threw you away like trash.”

He mirrored her. “That’s his right! And now—now what do I have? My honor is tarnished, _forever_ , Tiabeanie!”  
“Well, _Pendergast_ , you still have me when you’re not being a massive jerk!”  
“You don’t get it, do you?!” He snapped. “I swore an oath to the crown!”  
Bean scoffed. “That doesn’t matter.”

Pendergast recoiled. “What do you mean that _doesn’t matter_? I’ve spent the last three years focusing my life around it!”  
“You swore an oath to the crown, not my dad.” Bean replied. “I’m taking the crown. Besides, you swore an oath to _me_ specifically! To love, honour, and cherish above all else! Bet you regret brushing up my Latin _now_ , huh!”  
Pendergast threw his hands in the air. “You are _the_ most impossible woman I’ve ever met! You will take everything from me! Everything that I am! How can you claim that I will honour you if I cannot even honour my first, most vital oath?!”

She moved towards him. “Because you’re mine, and I know you. We’re going to be okay.”  
He returned to crossing his arms. “Why are you even doing this? You’ve never _really_ shown interest in the crown before.”  
“Because my dad tried to fuck with you. And you’re my husband, and I’m not letting anyone do that.” Bean said firmly. “You keep saying you’d kill for me. And maybe I’d do the same.”  
And for just a moment, something dark flashed through her eyes. Pendergast swallowed. Was that what he looked like, when he made similar threats?

“Your own father though?”  
“Just because he’s not Arwel doesn’t mean he’s a good dad.” Bean said darkly. “And no, I don’t want to kill him. But I’m not going to let him keep being like this. Not to you, not to me. Not to anyone.”  
“…and you’d really want an honourless dog for a husband, after all of this? I won’t lose you too?” Pendergast asked suspiciously.  
Bean shrugged. “I _don’t_ want an honourless dog for a husband. I want you. It’s not like I can make it any clearer.”  
She still glanced at him though, unsure, when she thought he couldn’t see. But next to all of that unsurety about his reaction, he could see steel convictions.  
“Promise me one thing, and I will join your rebellion. I’ll do anything you ask of me.”  
“What is it?”  
“Promise me you won’t become your mother.”  
She inhaled sharply. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That dark Beandergast vibe though... (eyes emoji). 
> 
> I kid, I kid. I don't feel confident enough to do anything with that AU.


	41. God these bastards are so lucky, so much shit could have gone wrong along the way.

Eventually, the rest of the Griffiths trickled back. Blodeuwedd had red eyes, and wouldn’t look at Alice, but no one addressed it.  
“So, what has happened so far?” Pendergast asked.  
“Well, you got fucked up, so I declared war on the king, and then we all went and got the fuckers on board with this. They’re all coming by later to discuss it, according to your friend Bruce.” Thomas said evenly.  
Pendergast inhaled sharply. “You mean, the suitors?”  
“Yep.” 

“You told a group of noblemen—”  
“Multiple groups.”  
“You told _everyone_ that we were in a politically unstable position, having gone against the king? And what did you do to assure their loyalty?” Pendergast demanded, looking around the circle of family.  
“Well, we told Chaddeus he could marry Miriam Dashley and said he was retroactively at the wedding.” Blodeuwedd shrugged. 

Pendergast clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Birdy, you are now my favorite sibling.”  
“Hey!” Thomas said. “I know, but why?”  
“Because Chaddeus has thrown his lot in with us.” Pendergast snapped. “We _need_ the support of a powerful vassal right now, before they realize that we have _nothing_.”  
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” David broke in.  
“Shut up, David! I’m still mad at you!” Blodeuwedd hissed.  
“Okay, okay, everyone calm down!” Bean said, withdrawing her boot flask once again and holding it out. No one took it, so she put it back in her boot, before continuing. “This isn’t about who tried to marry who off, or who declared war on my dad, or whatever. We’re here now. We gotta handle _this_ , then we can start freaking out.” 

“I disagree _strongly_. This is a great time to freak out!” Pendergast said, throwing his arms in the air.  
“No, it’s not.” Bean replied. “Alice, you were talking about how you acted like you were doing better than the assholes, and didn’t need them. We need to keep up that energy.”  
“Okay, wait, what did you all promise to get that, anyway?” Pendergast broke in.  
“I didn’t promise anything.” Alice said quickly. “But they started talking about things like better things for _them_ —”  
Pendergast covered his face with a hand. “Which ones did you have?” 

“I think she got left with the idle rich.” Bean grimaced. “Sorry, Alice.”  
Pendergast let out a long groan. “Oh, those assholes… we can’t discuss a redistribution of territory, and they’re going to try to hold it over us…”  
“It’s not like Zog can do it for them either, right…?” David asked nervously.  
Pendergast looked up. “Good _point_ , David! What _is_ stopping them from going to Zog? And another good point, in the same sentence! Why would they help us if we’re more of the same? Agh, what did the others want?” 

There was silence for a minute, then Bruce poked his head in. “Well, I ripped a log in half several times.”  
“What? Why?” Thomas demanded as Bruce came in completely.  
Bruce shrugged. “Worked though.”  
“I’m sorry, when did you get here?” Pendergast asked, not sounding very sorry at all.  
“Oh, just now. I’ve got pretty good hearing though.” Bruce gestured to his head vaguely. “Glad to see you’re looking better, guess that Elfo-thing helped you after all.” 

“Elfo was the one to help you?” Bean asked, looking at Pendergast, who shrugged.  
“That is _not_ their name, that is the name Pendergast gave them when he was going nuts!” David huffed.  
“In his defense, he had a fever.” Bruce pointed out, before looking at Bean. “Said some pretty interesting things about you.”  
“Oh, what kind of things?” Bean bumped Pendergast’s shoulder playfully.  
“Like you were going to drown him, and he was okay with that.” Bruce deadpanned. 

A silence fell across the assembled family, and Bruce.  
“If it helps, I don’t think you actually will.” Bruce pointed out.  
“We need to focus on the issues at hand.” Pendergast ground out, his hand covering his face again. “Like, the imminent-death-issues. The they-might-betray-us-for-the-king-and-we-lose-everything-issues.”  
“Mm, I think they’ll at least hear you out.” Bruce said. 

“Yeah! Besides, it’s not for _nothing_ —it’s because they know my dad wouldn’t care if it were them, no matter who they were. Are. Whatever.” Bean said.  
“You had a few minutes to think around that, and that’s what you came up with?” Thomas asked.  
Blodeuwedd promptly socked him in the arm.  
“Ow! Not cool, Birdy.” Thomas whined. “I’ll let it slide since you’re sad though.”  
“Stop! Talking! About! It!” Blodeuwedd growled. “It’s fine! It’s done!”  
Pendergast glanced at Bean, who shook her head.  
“What are our assets?” Pendergast said loudly, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. 

“Um, us, Chaddeus under duress, Maredudd, and the Dashley family.” David listed off.  
Pendergast squinted at him. “What does Grandfather have to do with… never mind, not now. We can work with this, I think. I _hope_. We have to move quickly though. Has anyone been watching the castle?”  
There was another silence.  
“Has the king sent any messages to any of the _actual_ vassals?” Pendergast tried.  
More silence. Everyone glanced at each other awkwardly. 

Pendergast sighed deeply, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you at least know if the king has done anything to the guard rotation?”  
“Your idiots are loyal to you?” Thomas tried.  
“I walked into a closet.” David added. Blodeuwedd flicked him in the ear.  
“He hasn’t had enough time to restructure the castle _again_.” Bean finally said. “We could probably get in through one of the newer passages—you know where those are, right? Never the ocean cave?” 

“I don’t think we can win a wa—not a war. A battle of… _publicity_ sneaking in like thieves in the night.” Pendergast sighed. “We need to wait for the suitors to see where we stand.”  
“And you need to apologize to Chaddeus.” Blodeuwedd said. “Publically.”  
Pendergast waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, pride is the least of my worries right now.” 

“If it helps, I don’t think you’re immortal.” David said.  
“ _Why_ would that be a bad thing?” Alice asked.  
“Because he’d have to move to the cave of the single trap with the other immortal guy?” Bean tried.  
Pendergast tried very hard not to blurt out that he preferred being unconscious. He did, however, catch Bruce’s eye, and shoot him a look of anguish. 

Three o’clock came, and suitors began trickling into the area. Mostly, they milled about, more anticipatory of _other people_ doing things than they themselves. Alec accidentally made eye contact with Blodeuwedd, and spent the rest of the preliminary talks staring at his shoes and blushing. Pendergast would handle that _later_. 

“Gentlemen!” Pendergast clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of the crowd. “Thank you all for coming to our… talks.”  
“Thanks for coming to our treason.” Blodeuwedd muttered to Bean, who snickered despite herself.  
“This is going to be mostly a show of force.” Pendergast continued. “It would probably be best if we took control of the castle en masse, capturing the king, and forcing an abdication. No one is supposed to be hurt.”  
“What, you’re the king already?” Someone scoffed. 

Bean stood up straighter. “He’s not going to be _king_. He’s going to be _the queen’s husband_. And I might keep him as my marshal, he’s pretty good at it.”  
Pendergast shot her a small smile. “I live to serve.”  
Thomas made a gagging noise.  
“Why should we trust you?” Someone else asked. 

“Why not? We’re going to win.” Bean shot back. “And then you’re going to have to deal with us and the changes we’re going to make _anyway_ , better get on our—better get on _my_ good side while you can.”  
“Your husband is an oathbreaker, and you’d make the same of us!” A dark-haired man stepped forward. Bean squinted at him, before recognizing Colt Abbott. 

“I am no oathbreaker.” Pendergast growled.  
“He’s not.” Bean agreed. “And you guys aren’t either. You haven’t sworn your oaths of fealty yet, most of you are still _heirs_. And I’m still a Grunkwitz, and when I’m queen, it’ll still be to the crown.”  
The crowd grumbled awkwardly, and Pendergast grimaced.  
And that was when Luke stepped forward, and knelt. “I, Lucas Mayweather Dashley, pledge my loyalty and that of my house to Queen Tiabeanie the First for as long as we both shall may draw breath, and her heir after her. I pledge my loyalty to the crown of Dreamland in the same heartbeat, for they are one and the same. I shall raise my sword and those of my subordinates at her leisure, and I shall fight in her name. I would keep her peace in times of plenty, and shelter her people in times of lean.” Behind him, Miriam also knelt, her fine dress trailing in the mud. 

There was a beat of silence, then another of the men from the tent of the ‘intentionally slow runners’ stepped forward, and knelt as well, repeating Luke’s words. And then another. And then one who wasn’t even interested in other men from what Pendergast could tell. (This was actually one of the competitive fuckers, though not Colt Abbott for obvious reasons.) And then more, until Bean realized that this was going to go on all day if she let it.  
She cleared her throat. 

Unfortunately, Pendergast took this as a sign that _he_ should kneel and profess his loyalty.  
“Princess, I—”  
Bean grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He stumbled a bit, and stared at her, wide-eyed.  
“You don’t need to kneel before me, Pen.” She said quietly. “I’m just glad you’re back.”  
“But you’re the queen. I’m just a knight.”  
“My knight, though.” She shot him a quick grin before saying loudly, “Listen! We have stuff to do, and we _don’t_ have time to be here all day! So, Pen’s going to tell you the plan, and you can come—or not.” 

Pendergast cleared his throat. “Right, well, we need to make a quick show of power before the king can fire off any missives to his vassals. Essentially, we are going to take the moral high ground, and ride up to the castle, get in, and intimid— _persuade_ the king into listening to our demands. Namely, the handing over of the crown. No one is to be harmed, least of all the king. At worst, he will be placed under house arrest. Get your horses.” 

The suitors followed his command—though whether out of the newfound vows or simple curiosity it was unclear.  
“What about us?” Thomas asked.  
“What _about_ you?” Pendergast replied.  
“Horses for us? Unless you intend for the queen to walk up like a commoner?” Thomas scoffed. 

“The royal stables are outside of the castle.” Pendergast said, crossing his arms. “I will go get mounts for Bean and me, then return with them.”  
“What about the rest of us?” Thomas said slowly, as though he was talking to a child.  
“What _about_ you?” Pendergast replied. “As far as I’m concerned, you have done enough. I’m not going to let you go antagonize the king because you decided that you needed to protect me _now_ , after 22 years. When we’re done, I’ll send a messenger down, and you can come up and make your trouble then.” 

Thomas’ face fell. “I did it for you.”  
“I didn’t ask you to.” Pendergast snarled.  
“If you leave us here, it will look like a snub.” Blodeuwedd said.  
Pendergast shrugged. “I have something more important to deal with right now, since Thomas decided to start a coup, and none of you managed to get a hold of the situation.”  
“Hey! It’s not their fault.” Bean said. 

Pendergast pulled back, and looked at her for a long moment. Then he looked at Thomas. “I refuse to be responsible for you, least of all now. I _will not_ take horses from good, honorable men and act your servant so that you can ride in and claim a victory that you never earned. You want a horse? Get your own.”  
“What about Birdy?” Bean asked.  
Pendergast held up a hand. “Personally, one untrained woman I care about in a possible battleground is enough for me. I’d prefer it be you, since this is about you, but if you want to switch out, be my guest.” 

With that, he left.  
“So… I think he’s still mad.” David noted.  
“He’s going to keep being mad until he gets to hit something.” Thomas snorted. “So much for his ‘peaceful’ coup idea.”  
Alice took a deep breath. “I… think he might have a right. To be angry, that is.”  
“No, he said he wasn’t angry earlier, when we were alone.” Bean said. 

“Did he… actually say that?” Blodeuwedd asked hesitantly. “Because if so, I think he’s just… moved it.”  
Bean sighed. “Well, I don’t know how to talk him down from it. Any ideas?”  
“Sometimes when David works himself up, I…” Alice blushed here. “I distract him with a kiss.”  
“Cute.” Thomas snarked. “Come on, let’s all go hide in the tent and pretend we don’t exist in case we shame Penny.”  
“Um… Alice and I have horses.” David said. “Dobbin and Ashes.”  
Thomas paused. “You need to be the Griffiths presence there.” 

“That leaves another horse free though.” Alice said. “I’m not going, I have something I’d like to work on instead.”  
Thomas looked at Blodeuwedd. Blodeuwedd looked at Thomas.  
“You’re his favorite.” Thomas offered.  
“You’re more use right now.” Blodeuwedd replied gently. 

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Bean said, because she hated the idea of Pendergast getting hurt _again_ —but she also didn’t want her dad to _die_. She wasn’t a monster.  
Thomas nodded slowly. “No. So, I am going to step back, and let Blodeuwedd take her place as the family representative besides David.” 

Eventually, Pendergast returned with Carrots and Ribbons, and the suitors came back with their horses as well. Pendergast helped Bean mount up, then barked orders, forming a loose column that he and Bean rode at the head of. For the most part, they rode in silence, but it wasn’t particularly long even on foot. This was more a show of power. 

Unfortunately, the castle drawbridge was up.  
“What now?” Blodeuwedd asked softly.  
Pendergast squinted up. “Steven!” He barked.  
Everyone jumped—including the guard who had been peering over the edge of the castle wall. “S-sir?”  
“Drop this.” Pendergast ordered.  
“I… can’t do that, sir.”  
Bean blinked at him. “Hey, aren’t you Jackie’s husband?” 

“What?” Said Pendergast.  
“What?” Said Steven the Guard.  
“Yeah! You’re Jackie’s Steve!” Bean said. “Jackie, from down at the tavern? You guys have that baby—oh, what was her name? Rose!” Bean snapped her fingers triumphantly.  
Steve paled. “Are-are you threatening my family?” 

“What? No, of course not!” Bean said. “I just… Jackie always spoke well of you, you know? She said you’re a good guy, and you’re just trying to do your best—and that your bosses don’t appreciate you.”  
Steve glanced nervously at Pendergast, who raised an eyebrow at him. “Um… I’m not quite sure of the situation regarding my boss right now, so…”  
“This is tedious.” Chaddeus huffed, pulling his horse up near the head of the column. “Just shoot the man and send someone over to scale the wall and drop the bridge.” 

“Oh, is that all?” Blodeuwedd rolled her eyes.  
Pendergast shot them both a Look.  
“Hey, Steve, I promise no one’s going to get hurt.” Bean said. “Not you, not Jackie, not Rose. Not my dad, even. We just want to talk.”  
Steve was now gripping his standard issue pole-axe tightly. “You could scale the wall, if you wanted. It’d be easy for you.” 

“Yeah, probably.” Bean said. “It’s easier than the tower to my room. But, c’mon, Steve. I’m not gonna scale the wall, because you’re going to let the bridge down, and then we’re going to talk to my dad, and then you’re going to get a raise because the Captain of the Guard appreciates your hard work.”  
Steve looked at Pendergast. Pendergast raised an eyebrow at him, and Bean promptly elbowed her husband in the side.  
“I will most certainly not write you up for impeding us.” Pendergast said. 

Steve blinked at him, but he definitely seemed more relaxed upon seeing Pendergast act normally, the threat mostly gone. Steve disappeared, and there was a brief pause, then the drawbridge came clanking down. The horses trotted across the bridge, into the empty courtyard.  
“Where is everyone?” Bean muttered.  
Pendergast’s mouth was a thin line, and he scanned the walls around them as he dismounted. Finding nothing, he extended a hand to Bean, who shook her head and dismounted herself. He nodded once, and held out a hand to Blodeuwedd, who took it, shadowing Bean. 

No one broke the silence as they walked into the throne room, all of them.  
It was empty, except for someone sitting at the other end.  
Zog was slumped in his chair, looking much as he usually did when Pendergast came to him with some petition or another—or at least, he would in a moment, once he saw them and started yelling.  
Zog’s eyes flicked over them, then widening with surprise when he saw Pendergast. “You’re up and about a lot sooner than I thought.” 

“As I recall, you wanted my brother dead.” Blodeuwedd burst out.  
“Blodeuwedd, don’t bother the king.” Pendergast hissed, feeling as though snakes were coiling in his gut.  
“I… figured if he was dead, yer other brother woulda come back and tried ta kill me.” Zog said, ignoring Pendergast. He turned his attention back to Bean. “Ya know, I was spittin’ mad—you went behind my back to marry Gast, and then you got everyone ta betray me?”  
(The suitors squirmed awkwardly.)  
“It’s not supposed to be a betrayal.” Bean said. “Either of it.”  
“Eh, I believe ya. This ain’t exactly an army, and let’s be honest, ya could take after yer ma a lot more than ya do.” Zog stood from his throne, and walked over to Bean. “Anyway, where was I?”  
“You felt betrayed?” Pendergast said. 

“Yeah. I felt betrayed, and I was spittin’ mad—I was gonna have you, Gast, yer cat, yer elf, everybody killed. Stan woulda been busy for _weeks_ , y’know? But… then I started thinkin’… and besides, my army’s gone. So I was in bed, waitin’ for Gast’s big brother to sneak in and try and knife me, and no one ever came. And I had to ask myself, what kind of parent gets murdered by their kid?”  
“Thomas isn’t your son.” Bean said.  
“Nah, but it woulda been for you.” Zog waved her off. “And I just kept rememberin’ you, right where you are now, beggin’ me to help Gast. But thinkin’ ‘bout Gast’s big brother reminded me a lot of Yog.” 

“You… never talk about him.” Bean tried.  
“Last time I checked, it… _hurt_ a lot to talk about him. But, that’s the thing about pain. It kinda fades after a while, and leaves ya with the good memories. And I remember the kinda king that my brother wanted to be. I’m not that kinda king, Beanie. I failed Dreamland, and even worse, I failed you. So, I decided I don’t mind too much if ya take my crown.”  
“Wh—just like that?” Bean asked. 

Zog took off his crown, and placed it in her hands. “Just like that. I remembered I never wanted ta be king in the first place. D’you know how much peace I had when it was just me and Merkimer? It was blissful, and I don’ use words like _blissful_ willy-nilly like some kinda poet. You, though? You’re young. You’ve got morals and shit. You’ll be a good queen, Beanie.”  
“What about you, sire?” Pendergast asked. 

Zog finally turned to him. “I’m gonna go live in the forest afta Beanie gets crowned properly. Make sure the transition of power goes smoothly. Maybe try to find Ursula, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just figure out who I am first, it’s been a while since I was Just Zog, or at least not important Zog. Eh, look at me, wafflin’ on like some kinda woman. Take care ‘a my daughta, or I’ll come back and kick yer ass.”  
With that, he shuffled towards the exit, presumably to prepare for his departure.  
“Well, that was… anti-climactic.” Blodeuwedd said. 

“I feel like we’re forgetting something.” Bean mused.  
Pendergast slapped a palm against his forehead—at the same time, Bean gasped. “Derek!” They said together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve the guard (and his wife and daughter) are named after the Tylers in Doctor Who. 
> 
> Pendergast is DONE with all of these people. Zog is also done, but in a completely different kind of way.


	42. WHEN I SAY PENDERGAST, YOU SAY 'DESERVED BETTER'! PENDERGAST!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is smut in this chapter (between Bean and Pen). If that's not your thing, skip from, _'Bean laughed. "How so?"_ to _She immediately curled up against him, and he wrapped an arm around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her head._

Pendergast took a deep breath, before knocking on the door.  
“Come in!” Derek called.  
Pendergast opened the door slowly. “Um, hello, Prince Derek.”  
“Hi Pendergast! How are you?” Derek asked.

He was lying on his floor, playing with his soldiers.  
Pendergast sat down in front of him, and picked up a discarded enemy soldier, turning it over in his hands. The soldier stared back at him lifelessly.  
“Pendergast?” Derek asked softly.  
“I.. came up here to check on you.” Pendergast said. “Are you aware of what’s been going on?”

“No, I don’t think so.”  
“Your… well, first, I married your sister. Several—about a month and a half ago.”  
“Oh, I know that. Everyone knows that.” Derek said, moving some of his soldiers around.  
Pendergast sighed. “Well… I was injured badly recently. And your sister… and my brother… well, your father’s been deposed. Your sister will be crowned now.”  
Derek watched him carefully. “And what happens now?”  
“Your father will go live peacefully in the woods.” Pendergast shrugged. “You will remain crown prince and Bean’s heir.”

“Until you have children?”  
Pendergast sighed, finally placing the soldier down again. “Derek, I don’t think that’s ever… likely.”  
Derek blinked at him. “Why? Is your penis mangled?”  
“Wh—no! No, it’s not. I don’t think she really wants kids, though.”  
“I think you’d be a good dad.” Derek offered, rearranging the enemy soldiers in front of his own army.  
Pendergast was silent for a minute. “I… think I’d at least like the chance. But I don’t even really have enough left to offer.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, Pendergast took it as a chance to scooch back.  
Derek paused for a minute. “You never answered my question. How are you?”  
Pendergast swallowed. “I… the man I thought of as my father figure couldn’t even… he didn’t even care that I’d nearly died. He didn’t care that I was hurt. My wife, my brother… they destroyed everything that I’ve worked to become.”  
“Well… I’m your brother now. And I care.” Derek offered. “You’re a friend. You sit with me at dinner, and you’re not mean to me.”

“But Prince Derek…”  
“You called me Derek before, you can do it again.” Derek urged gently.  
Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “I have no honor anymore.”  
“You always taught me that a man gives himself honor. So how can anyone else take it away from you?” Derek moved his commander forward a bit.  
“I… they didn’t care enough to-to let me die, they dragged me into this!”  
“Personally, I think they cared _too_ much.” Derek mused.

“About themselves.” Pendergast scoffed.  
Derek looked up. “I guess so. I know I wouldn’t want my sister to die, or a spouse if I had one.”  
Pendergast shook his head. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t _kindness_. It wasn’t compassion. It was anger at the world, in my name.”  
“Pendergast, you’re not exactly a peaceful man yourself. …is Dad hurt?” Derek asked in a small voice.  
“No! No, I could never let your father be hurt, I… I’m a violent man, but I have honor.”

Derek smiled slightly. “I know. And see? You still have honor.”  
Pendergast ran his tongue over his teeth. “I… it just feels as though none of them care about how I feel.” Then he sighed. “Sorry, Derek, I don’t mean to sound all emotional and vulnerable like some sort of…” he gestured vaguely.  
“Balanced person?”  
“I was going to say thespian.” Pendergast shook his head slowly.

Derek knocked over one of the enemy soldiers. “It’s not so bad to have feelings.”  
“Feelings stop me from-from killing things properly!”  
“Do you still need to kill things properly? Now that you’re a prince-consort?” Derek asked.  
Pendergast slowly lowered his head into his hands. “Derek, I… who am I? Without my reputation? Without my job? Without my… violence?”

Derek sighed. “You’re Pendergast. You’re still Pendergast. …look, a butterfly in the cocoon is still a butterfly, right? Maybe this is a good thing.”  
“I don’t want to be alone, without even knowing who I am in this new order.” Pendergast admitted.  
Derek gently patted his head. “You don’t have to be alone. I mean, it is lonely, being a prince, but I’m here. Bean likes you, even if she went around it in a way you don’t like. Your brother tried to kill for you. My dad cares about you.”

“He doesn’t.”  
Derek looked down at his lap. “He cares about you more than he cares about me.”  
“I was dead to him the moment he learned that I cared more about Bean than his approval. But… I must admit, it would be nice to have… both.”  
Derek flicked one home soldier down. “No, that’s… understandable. Hey, if you ever want to feel normal, you can always come up here and play soldiers with me.”  
Pendergast looked at the toys, and smiled softly. “I would like that. May we play now?”  
Derek lit up. “Of course!”

Bean, meanwhile, burst into Odval’s office.  
Odval startled. “Jesus fucking… what do you want?”  
“Good, you’re still here.”  
Odval glared at her. “Not for long. Try to arrest me, I will only escape.”  
“ _Wow_ , okay, chill.” Bean said. “I was just… well, not _asking_ , but pointing it out.”

Odval threw something into a box on his desk, and then retrieved a bottle. He took a swig, eyed it appreciatively, then placed it gently into the same box.  
“Are you… going somewhere?” Bean asked.

“I am in the _process_ of going somewhere.” Odval sniped. “I didn’t expect you to move so fast—for an alcoholic lout, you’re quite efficient.”  
Bean took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to deal with that later, but _why_?”  
Odval scoffed, before leaning on the desk. “You came in here with an army. I was only protected by Turbish, Mertz, and the walls of the castle, which I have always found Why _wouldn’t_ I assume my head would be the first to roll?”

Bean bit her lip. “Yeah, I mean, that’s… yeah. Fair. But I don’t actually know anything about running the kingdom. You do.”  
Odval scoffed again, louder this time. “Oh? As if you’d actually listen to me? Trust anything I have to say?”  
“I would—”  
“No, you wouldn’t.” Odval picked up a book, squinted at the cover, and then tossed it out the window.

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here!” Bean huffed. “Especially since _you_ tried to kill my person!”  
Odval rolled his eyes. “Eloquent. But that’s exactly why. You will never understand what I was trying to do, I was trying to do for Pendergast.”  
“What, letting him _die_?”  
“How did he react when he heard that you were doing this in his name? Was he happy? Proud?” Odval asked, ignoring her question.

“I…” Bean paused. “Oh, fuck.”  
“Pendergast’s honor—his _reputation_ —is incredibly important to him. He made it himself.” Odval continued. “He wanted to die a hero than live as a reprobate. I understand that about him, but you? The person he’s chosen to share his life with? Do you even know him, or is he just your sexual toy?”  
“He’s more than that! I love him!” Bean snapped.  
Odval shrugged. “And what do you love about him? His biddability?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Bean snapped.  
“Do you love him?” Odval tilted his head. “At all? Or is he simply more useful alive than dead?”  
“Fuck you, you don’t know anything about it!” Bean snarled. “When I saw him lying there, my heart stopped. And for the past few days, I have had to keep it all together. But if he died, I _know_ that part of me would die with him. This isn’t some-some stupid _game_ like you think it is. I just want to curl up with him at night and know he’s okay, I just want to see him smile again, I just want to keep him _safe_.”

Odval watched her for a moment, before returning to packing. “I suppose that counts, as much as you _can_ love, with your upbringing. I certainly understand the impulse to guard one’s own… person, that’s why I am taking Sorcerio with me into exile.”  
Bean snorted. “Does he know about that?”  
“Oh yes, unlike you, I tell my lover of my plans beforehand.” Odval said.

“Why do you hate me?” Bean demanded.  
Odval turned around. “I don’t hate you.”  
Bean snorted. “Sure seems like it.”  
Odval paused. “You are… Zog and Dagmar’s daughter.”  
“Wow, tell me something I _don’t_ know.”  
“Let me finish. I don’t like either of them, and you… you inherited a lot of their traits.” Odval turned over a knickknack in his hands slowly.  
“Were you always this much of an asshole?” Bean snapped.

“…no, I don’t think I was.” Odval admitted. “I remember… I remember sneaking you candy on multiple occasions. I remember… you hugged me, and at first I thought you’d just… run into me by accident, but then you looked up at me and smiled.”  
“Where did it all go wrong?” Bean asked softly.  
“Your grandmother died.” Odval said briskly, packing away the knickknack. “Then your uncle. Dagmar was turned to stone some time later. You withdrew, and I didn’t… push you. And then you grew up, and suddenly I wasn’t seeing you as the little girl who hid behind me when playing hide and seek, because you knew I would protect you when your uncle came looking. You weren’t a happy child anymore, you were mean and sullen and… I should have done better by you.”

“You could stay.” Bean offered awkwardly. “You have experience, you _know_ stuff—”  
Odval shot her a pointed look. “No. There’s years of bad blood between us, and frankly? I want to retire.” He shut the box with a _snap_ , then tugged it off of his desk, placing it on the floor.  
“Retire?” Bean said skeptically. “ _You_?”  
Odval shot her a sour look. “Me. And Sorcerio. I’ve devoted my life to this kingdom, and I have _nothing_ to show for it. Did you know, I have _hobbies_?”

“What hobbies?” Bean asked, curious despite herself.  
“I,” Odval announced, “am going to take up gardening.”  
“That’s not a hobby you have _now_ though, is it?” Bean pointed out.  
“Not important.” Odval replied, picking up the box. “Sorcerio and I are going to the countryside. I have embezzled a small amount of funds—also known as the pay I _deserve_ , after 20 years of this shit—to set us up and buy a lovely little cottage we have discussed.”

“A real cottage, or…?”  
“ _Real_.” Odval snapped. “It’s covered in ivy and bluebells. Very picturesque, comes with an attached parcel of land that already has some fruit trees planted. It’s not too far from a village, but far enough for us to be left to our own devices.”  
“Sounds nice.” Bean finally commented.  
“Yes, well…” Odval side-eyed her for a minute. “You better not show up without warning.”

“I’m not going to go bother you, geez! …but uh… what am I supposed to do with you gone?” Bean asked, her voice smaller than she’d intended for it to come across.  
Odval sighed. “Honestly? You need more people than just me and a replacement for Sorcerio. This is a skeleton crew and it’s not helping the country. You need a marshal—though I imagine Pendergast will reprise his role once he’s recovered—”  
“Pen’s fine.”  
“Oh?”

“Eternity pendant, I didn’t really see.” Bean shrugged.  
Odval paused. “How did your father take it? Pendergast being alive and walking around?”  
“He didn’t care.”  
“Oh.” Odval seemed caught off-guard for a moment, before he righted himself. “You need a spouse—again, Pendergast fills the role—because they can help you delegate. You need a chaplain, for the country’s spiritual needs; as far as I know, the archdruidess is staying, so there’s that at least. You need a chancellor, for diplomacy. A steward, for administration, and a court wizard. Every good kingdom has one. And of course, a spymaster for… well, you have many enemies, Tiabeanie. You’ll need to keep a proper eye on them.”  
“Are you one?” Bean asked. “An enemy?”

Odval considered this, then shook his head. “No. No, I’m too old and tired to make myself a threat to you. I just want to be left in peace with my lover.”  
“Then don’t call me Tiabeanie. You can call me Bean.”  
Odval nodded once. “Well then, Bean, I _would_ stay to oversee the transition of power to the new regime, but quite frankly, I don’t trust you not to change your mind. Besides, I’ve already hired the donkey cart. It’s not a refundable deposit, Tia… Bean.”

“Okay.” Bean said. “Uh… are you taking your wall… secretary?”  
“No. Miss Moonpence will aid one of my successors.” Odval said stiffly, before bowing his head. “Goodbye, Bean.”  
“Bye, Odval.” Bean said softly.

Meanwhile, someone else was packing as well. Or, more accurately, Zog was trying to prod Vip and Vap into packing for him. There was an open chest, and clothes strewn about haphazardly by the time that they retreated into their little room and would not come out.

“Agh, yer not comin’ with me to the secret forest castle!” Zog finally yelled at them.  
“Secret forest castle?” Someone repeated.  
Zog turned around to see… small girl Pendergast. Fuck, what was her name again?  
“Whaddya doin’ here?” Zog asked, stalling for time while he tried to remember what Pendergast had called her.

“I wanted to see who could do that to my brother after years of faithful service.” The girl snapped. But, she did also come in and idly fold a shirt.  
“Why are you doin’ that?” Zog asked.  
“Because I care about him… oh.” She looked down at her hands. “Ah. Granny taught me that idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and your room is paining me just looking at it.”

“Why arencha downstairs? Carousin’?” Zog demanded. The girl had the gall to sit on the edge of his bed and start making a pile of folded clothing that was in her reach.  
She glared at a shirt. “Penny and Bean are gone. David went off to get Alice and Thomas, and I don’t know Luke or Bruce well enough to stick with them and bother them.”  
“So ya came to bother me?” Zog huffed, pretending he knew who anyone was past Bean. He handed her more clothes, and she handed him one of the folded piles.

“At least I’d be bothering you on purpose.” The girl pointed out, though now she looked more pained than anything.  
Zog shuffled awkwardly. He wasn’t really _in tune_ with female emotions. Hell, he wasn’t even in tune with his _own_ emotions. “Eh, whoever said that was a dick. Look atcha, comin’ here, doin’ laundry. Helpin’.”  
“It’s what she didn’t say.” The girl huffed. “And I’m never going to love again so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Zog said, eloquently. Love stuff, he could deal with that. “Hey, I thought the same thing ‘bout Dagmar. But then I found Ursula, and she’s a lot better.”  
The girl looked incredibly offended. “Alice isn’t a _witch_! She’s sweet and kind and good and… and I’m not enough for her.”

Zog sat down next to her, not caring for how the bed dipped when he did. Stupid bed, calling him fat. “Ey, listen. I know what that’s like, more than anybody. My ex-wives _hate_ me, and sometimes I think it’s fair. But that don’t mean ya ain’t worth love. Ya can’t control how other people feel about ya. And if they don’t love ya, it ain’t healthy t’chase ‘em, or they’ll turn yer kingdom to stone and make ya look like a jackass.”  
“But I… I don’t think I’m ever going to find love.” The girl admitted softly.

“Honestly? Me neither, kid. I’m headed inta the forest to look, but I don’t know how it’s gonna go.” Zog admitted. “But… I’m still gonna look, because my ma—wise lady, Ma, don’t talk about her enough—said that everybody’s got a person, if they want one. So yer person is still out there.”  
The girl glanced at him. “You don’t care that I said I’m in love with a girl?”  
“It ain’t none of my business, not so long as it ain’t Beanie. And even then I don’t think it would be, but I’d just say that she’s married to yer brother.”

“It’s not Bean. But Alice… is married to my cousin.” The girl said softly. But at least she was still folding shirts, no matter how softly.  
“Yeesh, that’s awkward.” Zog said, because there was nothing else to say. “They happy?”  
“I think so.”  
“Then that’s step one. Lettin’ go for her sake, lets ya be all noble and shit. Step two is lettin’ ‘em be happy somewhere ya don’t hafta see. Fer example, Dagmar apparently hides out in the sewers or some shit. I don’t go down there, so it ain’t my problem.”

“Wait, you know where the witch is? And you haven’t apprehended her?” The girl demanded.  
“It ain’t my problem.” Zog repeated. “’Parently Beanie found some creepy music box thing down there Dagmar used ta play, havin’ suspiciously non-drug visions’a Dagmar, that kinda thing. So she’s close, she’s underground, she’s not comin’ t’me, so I don’t hafta worry about it.”  
“But she’s a threat to your kingdom!” The girl said.

“Nah, she’s not afta Dreamland, or she’d’ve done somethin’ about it.” Zog shrugged. “She’s playin’ mind games, and I’m not good at those. If Beanie needs me when Dagmar’s moved onta Big Girl Plans, I’ll help, but it ain’t my problem until then.”  
“That’s callous.” The girl snorted.  
“It’s _practical_.” Zog said. “I’m leavin’ anyway, this ain’t the time for me to get bogged down in Dagmar. You, yours is named… Alice? Leave ‘er alone, fer yer own sake. Help if yer asked, but otherwise… it ain’t about you, or me, y’know? We’d only hurt ourselves or get in the way of other people’s stuff. You and me, we got our own stories t’figure out. Whaddya wanna do with yerself?”

“I don’t want to be married off yet.” The girl said quickly, fidgeting with one of his uglier shirts. Maybe he wouldn’t bring that one. “…I think if they’d have me, I’d like to be a clerk for Penny and Bean.”  
“Like some kinda secretary?” Zog pondered this. “Sounds good, I guess. Forever?”  
“No, just until I figure myself out.”  
“Then ya got plenny ‘a time.” Zog said with finalty.

The girl looked up at him. “I guess I know why Penny thinks of you as a dad. You’re, um… you’re better than ours ever was. And… thank you. For talking to me about this.”  
“Eh, yer a good kid.” Zog said dismissively. “Gast too, ya can tell ‘im I said so.”  
“Why not tell him yourself?”

“Because I’m still mad at him for not even tellin’ me he married Beanie himself.” Zog snapped. “I deserved to know that. He ain’t dead, so we’re square.”  
“Really?”  
“Really.”  
“Are you sure he sees it that way?”

Zog eyed her, annoyed. “If he don’t, that’s a quick way fer him t’be remindin’ me that I was ready for him t’die.”  
“Don’t say that!” The girl huffed. “He deserves better.”  
“Ey! I’m a king! You can’t speak t’me like that!”  
“You’re not a king anymore, you gave up your crown.”

“I’m still pow’rful ‘nough t’tell ya t’can it.” Zog snarled.  
The girl glared at him. “Then I’m done folding your laundry.”  
“Fine by me.” Zog huffed. She’d already folded more than half.  
“You’re supposed to say thank you!”  
“Yer welcome!” Zog said as the little girl stormed out.  
Ah, he remembered her name. Blodeuwedd.

Bean and Pendergast met back up at bedtime after separate, hasty dinners. Specifically, they met up outside the bedroom door.  
“Hey.” Bean said softly.  
“Hey.” Pendergast replied, just as softly. “Do you… want to go in first?”  
She did, and held open the door for him.

“Are things awkward between us now?” Bean asked, biting her lip.  
Pendergast shrugged. “I… yeah, a little. I know you don’t love me—”  
“What?” Bean interrupted.  
Pendergast lit a candle, then shot her a doubtful look. “Not the way I love you, at least. That’s-that’s okay. Really.”

Bean took his free hand in one of hers. “Pendergast, I love you.”  
Pendergast still looked doubtful. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”  
“Shut up.” Bean said firmly. “You and me? This is for real. I’m going to stay, and you’re going to stay… right?”  
“As long as you’ll have me.” Pendergast confirmed.  
“Then I’ll have you forever.” Bean said. “’Cause I’m holding on with both hands and I’m not letting you go.”

“Until something better comes along?” Pendergast tried gently, curling his hand around hers.  
“No.” Bean said firmly. “’Cause you’re… well, I mean, you can leave if you want, but I’m not… I’m not setting you aside. Because you make me feel like I’m home. Safe. You make me feel… _wanted_. And I want you just as much. I like talking to you, just… being with you. I like looking up and seeing you there next to me, even if we’re not doing anything. I like waking up and seeing your stupid sleepy face. And I like all those things because they’re you.”

Pendergast stared at her, and she shuffled awkwardly. “And… I’m sorry. About your reputation. It’s better than you being dead but—”  
“You’re rambling.” Pendergast interrupted. “But… thank you. For everything.”  
“You don’t have to thank me for being nice.” She said softly.  
Pendergast put the candle down, and knelt in front of her.

“Pen?” She said softly.  
“My queen, I swear to raise my sword only when you command it.”  
“What are you—”  
“I will give you my life, my love, my steel, anything that you desire and I can possibly get for you. I am yours in every way. Not Dreamland’s, though if I somehow outlive you, I will protect your brother for you. But my heart won’t be in it, because you will carry it with you until the end of my days. I am yours, _fy frenhines_.”

“I think I like being… how do you say it again? I like being _dy wraig_ more.”  
Pendergast looked up. “You said it right.”  
“Well, yeah, I have a pretty good teacher—wait, are you surprised? Asshole.” She said it playfully though. “Come on, stand up, I want to have hot make-up sex.”

He stayed kneeling. “You know, I never proposed to you.”  
“You asked me to marry you during sex once.”  
“Then if you won’t take it as my vow of service to you, take what I said as a proposal.” He said softly. “Even a late one.”  
“What, do you want to get married again?”  
“No. I’d like to skip to the wedding night.” He smirked. “…but you deserved a good proposal at least. I don’t have a ring.”

“Again, you already married me.” Bean waved her left hand in his face.  
Pendergast scooped her up. “Well, since you won’t let me _kneel_ for you, how about you lie down and I’ll pay my allegiance another way?”  
Bean laughed. “How so?”

Which was really just a prelude to them both undressing entirely, which itself led to Pendergast kissing a trail up Bean’s thighs.  
“Heh, you’re all scratchy.” She said.  
“I’ll shave tomorrow.”  
“I like it.”  
He nipped at her thigh, and smiled when she gasped.

“You like it a bit rough, don’t you, _princess_?”  
Her fingers curled into his hair as he scraped his teeth along her clit, just hard enough for her to feel it. “Ah, you know I do.”  
But the bastard instead turned comparatively gentle, burying his face in her and _licking_ like she was the most delicious treat on Earth.

“Nngh, _tease_.” She whined.  
He gave her a hard swipe with his tongue up to her clit, and an innocent look. “Me?”  
“Who else is licking my pussy?” She demanded. “Damn it Pen, _harder_ …”  
And then he added fingers, humming slightly as he twirled his tongue around her clit the way he knew she liked, sucking slightly. She shuddered. “Y-yeah, there, like _that_ —don’t stop…!”

Fingers still curling inside her, he pulled away, causing her to whine. “Which is it? A tease, or _don’t stop_?”  
“Both.” She ground out. “Or you could just fuck me.”  
He gave her a long lick and a smirk. “But you taste so _good_.”  
He tugged slightly with his curled fingers, the smirk growing as she gasped and her hands went to the sheets.

“Pen…”  
His fingers left and she let out a disappointed whine, even while she watched him carefully lick them clean like he didn’t want to miss any at all. But then his tongue was going as deep as possible into her, while he hummed in pleasure, sending vibrations further along than she’d thought.  
“Pen just _fuck me_.” It was not as commanding as she’d wanted, more desperate than anything, but it got him to look up at her.  
“Now.” She said, voice wavering slightly.  
He placed a gentle kiss on her clit.

“As my queen commands.” He purred, moving up slightly. She was faster than him though, and flipped him, settling into her favorite seat. Both of them let out a sound of appreciation as his hips bucked up into her.  
“You said you wanted to do our wedding night again.” She teased.  
“God, you feel good wrapped around me.” He muttered, staring up at her like she hung the moon.

She smirked and began rocking slightly, then faster and faster. And then she _leaned_ forward to plant a kiss under his jaw, before sitting up straight and taking all of him into her.  
“Anything you wanna say to me, Pen?” She tilted his chin up with one finger, biting her lip and trying to focus on his face to keep her eyes from fluttering.  
“Yours.” He choked out.  
She grinned. “Yeah you are.”

And that was when he flipped her, settling her ankles on his shoulders and fucking _deep_ into her.  
“And mine.” He murmured, leaning down to brush her ear.  
“Pen…!” She knew she was getting loud.  
“That’s right, scream for me…” He fucked into her hard and fast, and she bit her hand to prevent everyone in the castle from hearing them.

“Come on, Bean, princess, say my name. Tell everyone who’s fucking you.” He coaxed, one hand on her ankles keeping her in place, the other tracing rough circles into her clit.  
“Pen, Pen, Pen, please…” The hand was clearly not working, she had given it up to tangle her hands in his hair and _pull_. It mostly succeeded in getting him closer and changing the angle  
“So beautiful half-fucked…” He muttered.  
“Half?” She choked out.

“Half.”  
“Pen, I’m going to cum.”  
“Again.” He bit his lip in concentration. “I love seeing you completely unraveled like this.”

He manuevered her so that she had one leg hooked around his waist and one leg between his, changing the angle again.  
“Pendergast.” Bean moaned. “Are you ah—are you literally fucking me sideways?”  
“I get to see all of you this way.” Pendergast said innocently, one hand gently squeezing her ass before moving back to support her and pull her _close_ and one hand squeezing at her nipple.  
“Pen.” She whined. “Pen, this isn’t fair.”

“Do you want me to stop?”  
“No!”  
“What a filthy wife I have…” He mused, as though his own eye wasn’t half-lidded in lust and he hadn’t licked his lips clean of her before fucking her like this.  
She finally closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations. Words were hard, but he was still fucking noises out of her.

“Ah ah ah, Tiabeanie.” He purred. “Look at me.”  
She opened her eyes, only for him to lean in and cover her neck in bites.  
“What do you… _fuck that’s good_ … want me to look at?” She whined as he moved onto her breasts, littering them in bites as well as a few well-placed pinches.

She shifted so that she was directly underneath him, both legs hooked around his waist. He retaliated by sitting up on his knees and bringing her with him, supporting her with his hands as she clung to him.  
“Say my name, and I’ll let you cum so hard you see stars.” He muttered in her ear, before scraping his teeth on her earlobe.  
She whined wordlessly, arms slung around his neck.

“I’ll fill you up.” He continued. “How’d you like that, princess? All full of me, so much that it’s _dripping_ out of your pretty little cunt? Making you smell _freshly fucked_ all day tomorrow?”  
“Pen, please…”  
“I’ll make it worth your while… I’ll make you scream. Say my name?”  
“Pen…” Names were _hard_.

“Did I fuck it out of you?” He tried to coo, but she could hear the pant behind it. Oh, she had him, she realized in some part of her brain that hadn’t been fucked to oblivion yet.  
She pulled back slightly. “Not yet, Pendergast.”  
He buried his face in her neck. “ _Liar_.”

And then she was lying back on his thighs while he stayed up, his hands on her waist, pulling her again and again to sweet _oblivion_ , faster and faster until she was dimly aware of her hands tangled up in the sheets again just for something to hold onto, and someone screaming his name over and over. Oh, fuck, that was her. He grinned at her as he leaned over, causing her to whine, and then pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, before pulling out and flopping down beside her.

She immediately curled up against him, and he wrapped an arm around her, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “How are you doing?”  
“Good. …you’re the one who nearly died recently.”  
“Mm. Didn’t take.”  
She leaned up on her arms to glare at him. “Don’t joke about that. Seeing you lying there…”  
“I can’t promise it won’t happen again.” Pendergast said softly, tucking a lock of Bean’s hair behind her ear with his free hand. “But I can promise it won’t happen again _without good reason_.”

“Yeah? And what was the reason this time?” Bean snarked.  
“Bentwood was coming to kill you.”  
She stared at him, and he quickly adjusted his tone. “I mean, they obviously didn’t succeed, and I killed their captain, so you have nothing to worry about. It’s fine.”  
She flopped down on top of him. “Pen, you _idiot_. I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you! What’s to stop them next time?”

“…I think we should send Merkimer back.” Pendergast said. “And Guysbert’s body. …maybe Alice and David too, if they want to keep travelling.”  
“We also need advisors.” Bean yawned, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Odval’s leaving with Sorcerio.”  
“And a replacement for me?”  
She looked up. “No, I thought you’d keep your job.”

Pendergast smiled. “I’d like that. That leaves two openings.”  
Bean counted on her fingers. “Chancellor, Steward, Chaplain, Marshal, Court Wizard, Spymaster… three openings.”  
“That’s a lot more than three jobs.”  
“Yeah, well, Odval seemed like he was doing a bunch of ‘em alone. We’ve already got you, and we have the spymaster, and the archdruidess too, but I don’t really care about her, so…”

“Huh. …Spymaster?”  
“Miriam Dashley.”  
“Huh.” Pendergast repeated. “…we also need to organize your coronation as quickly as possible. Perhaps a week at most, we need actual house heads here.”  
“God, being queen is so much work.” Bean whined, burying her face in his shoulder.  
Pendergast chuckled softly. “Well, I’m always here to help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> _fy frenhines_ = my queen   
> _dy wraig_ = your wife 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @nothereforanonhate
> 
> So I watched season 3. 
> 
> I loved some parts! I definitely agree with Queen Bean being a thing. I loved Mora as well, and episode 6 made me sad. :( (Also I would die for Oona and Freckles was good actually, fight me.) (Actually a lot of it made me sad, not gonna lie, but a good sad.)
> 
> But this is Fy Ngwraig, where the route to being queen is NICER and ALSO LESS FRAUGHT WITH PERIL AND BETRAYAL and Zog's going to go to a nice castle upstate where he can run around and chase sheep to his heart's content.


	43. Everyone Knows About the Pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Shit (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic!!! Will not end!!! (screaming internally)
> 
> So I chose the substitutions to be peppermint and chamomile for pennyroyal and wild carrot (Queen Anne's Lace). Even if the flowers aren't relevant, I assume white flowers all kind of look the same to Bean. Don't drink chamomile during pregnancy though. Maybe. Wikipedia was unclear.

The next morning, Pendergast rose at dawn, as usual. However, instead of bolting immediately, he stayed still, looking up at the bed canopy. At his side, Bean was splayed out on the bed, taking up most of the space. One arm was flung over his chest, her hair strewn out over the pillow, and partially over her face. Pendergast thought she was the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen.

And for once, he got to wake up _with_ her.  
Or at least, he was going to wait for her to wake up, until Bunty burst in. “Time for ya to wake up, yer majesty, and milord Pendergast.”  
“It’s… just Pendergast.”  
Bunty ignored him, darting over to Bean’s side of the bed faster than Pendergast had really pegged her base speed at, and screaming, “Wake up yer majesty! We’re up to our arses in noblemen, and they’ve already tried to eat all of the food and shit it out again!”  
(Pendergast, meanwhile, was scrambling for his eyepatch.)

“Gah, I’m not getting married!” Bean bolted awake.  
“Nice.” Pendergast drawled to her, beginning to rise, and then remembering that his clothes were very much not within arm’s reach.  
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it about you.”  
“Mm.”

“We’ve only got enough food for a king sort of appetite, not noblemen!” Bunty fretted. “And milord Odval usually handles the stores!”  
“What?” Bean said blearily.  
“I’ll go look into this.” Pendergast said. “Um… Bunty, can you turn around?”  
“Why?” Bunty asked.  
“Pen just doesn’t want you to see his dick.” Bean yawned.

“Oh, don’t you worry, milord. My mother was a whore and my father was a customer. I grew up in a whorehouse, I’ve seen all manner of cocks.” Bunty said blithely, beginning to fold clothes—the clothes Pendergast quite needed, actually.  
Pendergast looked at Bean. “I… don’t know how to react to that.”  
Bunty continued. “’Course, she kept trying to pull me aside to tell me about flowers and whatnot stoppin’ yer courses. I said to her, ‘Mum, if I’m going to die birthing a child, then I’m going to die, because I can’t imagine living like you’ and then she slapped me, and then I slapped her, and then she said I was ungrateful, and I said what did I have to be grateful for, she never cared about anything but her coin and that’s when I left with Stan.”

Pendergast looked at his wife for help.  
“Moms suck.” Bean said. “Why’d you have kids if your mom…?”  
“To stick it in the old hag’s face and show her it wasn’t the only way.” Bunty said pleasantly. “Besides, I’m probably going to outlive Stan. I’ll need someone to take care of me when I’m old. And the little ones are awfully cute and sweet. Besides, it’s good to know you can love someone in a family way even if it wasn’t taught.” 

Pendergast chose this moment to try and sneak out of bed, and at least get his brailles back. Bunty turned around, and he dived behind the sofa.  
“Oh, you’ve got a treasure trail, that’s lovely.” Bunty said.

“I want you to know that I hate this conversation.” Pendergast hissed at her, fumbling around for his clothes.  
“Aw, Bunty, be nice to him. He’s shy when we’re not fucking.” Bean said. “So whatever happened to your mom?”  
“Oh, she became the mistress of a rich man after faking a pregnancy and left.” Bunty said just as cheerfully. “I hope his wife bashed her head in, the cow.”

“He was married?” Bean gasped.  
Pendergast shot her a look. “Since when are you so invested in Bunty’s backstory?”  
“Since it got interesting.” Bean replied. “What happened when he found out she wasn’t pregnant?”  
“Well, she hasn’t come back since. I assume she stole one from a crib nearby.” Bunty said, handing Bean her clothes.  
Pendergast glared at her, very betrayed.

“How do you know she wasn’t pregnant?” Bean asked.  
“Oh, she was taking her ‘erbs almost daily.” Bunty said. “And she was getting on in years. She wasn’t young and fertile like you, highness.”  
“Yeah, but I’m on herbs.” Bean pointed towards the desk. Bunty followed her gaze, while Pendergast quickly dressed behind the sofa.

“Well, I s’pose you are.” Bunty said, seeing chamomile and peppermint. “Didn’t know that those stop yer courses, but I s’pose that’s none of my business, telling a queen what for.”  
Pendergast finally stood up, dressed completely. “But you’re comfortable with making her marshal dress on the floor?”  
“I’m not yer lady’s maid.” Bunty said pleasantly.  
Pendergast made a face at her, before looking to Bean. “I’m going to go now.”

“Aw, wait, don’t.” Bean said, pulling her shirt over her head.  
“Why?” Pendergast asked. “Are you alright?”  
Bean hopped over, trying to slip a boot on. “I just… it kind of fucked me up when I thought you were dead. And I want to stay near you ‘cause of that, you know?”  
Behind them, Bunty made a thoughtful face. Neither noticed.

“Yeah, but I’m not dead.” Pendergast said.  
Bean knelt to tie her boots. “I know. I just want to be near you. Aren’t you supposed to be super into cuddling and intimacy and shit like that?”  
“…you know, you’re the one asking me to wait.” Pendergast said, but he did not deny it.  
“Highness, ‘ave you ‘ad a drink recently?” Bunty asked pleasantly.

Bean grimaced. “Ugh, no. Something’s weird with all the beer in the kingdom, I can’t even smell it without throwing up.”  
“Poison?” Pendergast asked.  
“I dunno, maybe it’s a stomach bug.”  
Bunty looked at the herbs on Bean’s desk. “Well, I’m sure some peppermint tea would help you.”  
Bean grimaced. “Maybe some other time. I’m all minted out, you know?”

Bunty hummed pleasantly in agreement. “From the ‘erbs ‘ere?”  
“Yeah, you get it.” Bean said.  
Pendergast narrowed his eye. “Why do you ask?”

Bunty clasped her hands together in joy. “I just think it’s lovely that you’ll have a baby soon.”  
Bean stared at her. “Baby? What baby?”  
Bunty chuckled and winked at her. “Now, none of that, there are no secrets here! I’ve seen your husband’s penis!”  
“Please don’t mention that ever again.” Pendergast ground out.

“My lips are sealed.” Bunty said.  
“Wait, no, what about the baby thing?” Bean asked as Bunty tried to bustle past her.  
“Well, when a man and a woman get married…” Bunty said slowly. “God comes down and touches the woman’s womb, and she is filled with child.”  
“We’ve been married for months!” Bean hissed. “And I’m taking stuff to prevent it!”

“That’s peppermint and chamomile.” Bunty said cheerfully. “Good for soothing, not for sex.”  
“Oh my God.” Pendergast muttered, burying his face in his hands.  
Bean blinked at Bunty. “Wh… no, that’s… that’s pennyroyal and… Lynette gave that to me. So I wouldn’t get pregnant.”  
Bunty shrugged. “White flowers look the same to me ever since the accident. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”

Bean let her go that time, and stared at the desk. “…did your mom… lie to me?”  
“She can’t.” Pendergast said firmly. “At least, I don’t think she can.”  
Bean looked back at him. “…no. She can’t, she said as much. Unless that was a lie.”  
“I… am pretty sure I got it from her side of the family, so she can’t lie about lying.” Pendergast offered.  
Bean nodded slowly. “She said it was my choice. She didn’t… _word vomit_ after that, and she told your grandmother to leave me alone about it. …so… she wouldn’t, right?”

“No, my mother wouldn’t betray you.” Pendergast said gently, helping her to the sofa. “And there’s no guarantee Bunty is correct. This is a bit cruel, but she’s not exactly… an expert on contraceptives.”  
Bean took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s just… I know you want kids. Um… are you going to be upset? If I’m not pregnant?”  
“I can’t promise I won’t be disappointed.” Pendergast admitted. “But, at the end of the day, I would understand. I don’t want to have children just because you’re trying to make me happy.”

Bean curled her hands in her lap. “…I like making you happy. And… I like how you believe in me. Like, how you think I’d be a good mom. And I kind of want to prove you right, show you that your faith isn’t misplaced or anything.”  
Pendergast leaned over and kissed her forehead. “But do you want a child?”  
“I don’t think I’d _mind_ one. Generally.” Bean admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it, and… I want someone to love me. Like how I love my mom, even if she doesn’t deserve it. I… want to deserve it.”

“You do.” Pendergast said softly. “You deserve the world, my queen. And I promised I’d give you anything you want, within reason. …do you… want to make sure you’re pregnant, or just let things take their natural course?”  
“I don’t want to fuck you right now.”  
“Oh thank God.” Pendergast said.  
Bean shot him a Look.  
“We still have work to do.” Pendergast pointed out. “The suitors are going to eat up all of our stores.” 

“Then let’s go.” Bean said, taking his hand and pulling him out the door.  
In the throne room, Blodeuwedd was sitting on the steps, eating a small jam roll. Thomas lounged on the floor, feet sticking out of a Zog hole, and David and Alice were sitting near the main entrance on discarded crates.  
“Where is everybody?” Bean asked.

“Some went back down the hill to sleep off their hangovers.” Blodeuwedd commented, glancing at Thomas.  
Thomas glared at Bean. “And others were scared off by an unearthly howling in the midst of their revelry.”  
The Griffiths clan, sans Pendergast, grimaced. (Alice, for the record, looked at her lap and flushed scarlet.)

“What howling?” Pendergast asked.  
Thomas stood up. “Imagine, for a minute, you are me. You are walking with a handsome man in the gardens. You make him laugh. You think that maybe you’re going to have a kiss. Then, as you’re leaning in, you hear a scream. You jolt away. The scream keeps going. You realize it’s a word. You realize it’s a _name_. You realize you know exactly who was screaming and why.”  
“…who?” Bean asked, after a pause.

“You!” Thomas growled.  
Pendergast turned bright red. “Oh, no…”  
“Oh, yes.” Blodeuwedd made a face at him. “Everyone in the castle heard it. That’s around the time most of the former suitors left. The others dragged themselves out of whatever hole they’d hung around in this morning.”  
“I thought they were stealing food.” Bean said.  
David chose this moment to break into the conversation. “Not really. It takes a lot of food to feed an army, but they mostly took what they considered breakfast and fled. Castle storage will be back up to snuff within a week, though you _really_ should look into hiring a majordomo.”

“A… what?” Bean asked.  
“Add it to the list.” Pendergast said tiredly.  
“Sounds like you need some help.” Thomas said, cracking his back. “What can we do?”  
“We need to find a chancellor, steward—”  
“For the kingdom, not the household.” Pendergast interrupted.  
“Right, right, a court wizard, and a majordomo.” Bean counted off of her fingers, letting go of Pendergast to do so.

“We also need to organize a coronation and send invitations to the major houses in case they want to be here themselves. We also need to have a lot of the oaths of fealty reupped.” Pendergast added, before glancing at Bean. “…do you want your father’s crown?”  
“That’s an option?” Bean asked in surprise.  
Pendergast nodded. “New ruler, distancing herself from the ideology of the old regime… I’d say that we’d have to put the old crown somewhere, not melt it down, but it’s definitely possible.”

“Breathe, Penny.” Thomas commented. “So a crown, invitations, presumably decorations, anything else?”  
“A cloak?” Alice said softly.  
Everyone looked at her, and she flushed again, wringing her hands in front of her as she stood. “I mean… begging your pardon, your highness, but in Bentwood, the king and queen had royal cloaks, one each. They used them for most royal functions. I know it’s different here, and you’re more hands on, but… do you have a suitable cloak?”

“I… don’t think so.” Bean said thoughtfully. “The last coronation we had was my dad, and that was years ago. I mean, we probably put it in a closet somewhere, but it might have been eaten by rats.”  
“Pleasant.” David grimaced.  
“And the rat problem.” Pendergast added.  
Blodeuwedd, at some point, had pulled out a quill, an inkpot, and a scrap of parchment, and was writing all of this down. “So who does what?”

“I’m sticking with Pen.” Bean said firmly, grabbing his hand to demonstrate.  
“We have to do the council positions together then.” Pendergast said.  
“I’ll take care of the invitations, as your new royal secretary!” Blodeuwedd said.  
“Okay.” Bean said.  
“Are we allowed to say no?” Pendergast muttered.

Bean gently shoulder-checked him. “Don’t be rude.”  
“I’ll take care of the cloak, if it please you, your highness.” Alice said. “I’m nearly done with the blanket you ordered anyway.”  
“Ah. Yeah. That.” Bean said.  
“Charge any expenses to the castle.” Pendergast said quickly.

“Why are you being weird?” Thomas asked.  
“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.” Pendergast shot back, before admitting, “You’re not really being weird. You’re being suspicious because I am obviously keeping something from you.”  
Bean glared at him. “Dude!”  
“What? You know I can’t lie!”  
“I’m going to get the majordomo.” David cut in. “And a bunch of cats, for the rat problem.”

“I’ll handle the decorations. And the crown.” Thomas said, before glancing at David. “You really volunteered for the cats?”  
“How hard can it be?” David asked.  
“Famous last words.” Pendergast muttered, before turning to his wife. “Do you need anything else? Like a new dress?”  
“No, I know exactly which dress I’m going to wear.” Bean replied. “C’mon, let’s go talk to the Archdruidess first about the chaplain thing.” 

The Archdruidess was sitting in a pew, drinking communion wine, when they found her.  
“Ah. You’re… up early.” Pendergast said.  
The Archdruidess slowly looked at him. “Y’know, I hate this place. I really do.”  
“That’s not very godly.” Bean pointed out.

“Eh, I don’t care.” The Archdruidess said. “I’ve had to spend _months_ here, and for what?”  
Bean looked at Pendergast, who shrugged. She sighed. “We were hoping that you could do my coronation. And uh, be the court chaplain. And advise me on spiritual matters.”  
“You hate religion, and so do I.” The Archdruidess pointed out. “And your husband thinks I’m a heretic.”

“I’m not going to deny that.” Pendergast said. “But uh… it would take some time to appeal to the pope for a replacement… I want to say archbishop. So if you could just do the coronation…”  
The Archdruidess stumbled to her feet, and threw the wine down in front of her. “Fuck you, fuck your horses, fuck your peasants, fuck your wife, fuck Dreamland.”  
“ _Whoa_ , okay, I mean I get it, but still.” Bean said. “Uh… is that a yes or no?”

The Archdruidess waved a shaky finger in front of her. “You know what? You _know what_? If he wants to talk to you, he can send a goddamn ambassador, because you’re a queen now. You’re not going to be chasing me to Steamland without a damn good reason, and I’m too tired to murder your husband right now. And he-he better not want what I think he wants, or I’m gonna rip off his balls.”  
“Excuse me?” Pendergast said.  
“Not you!” The Archdruidess growled at him. “My boyfriend better not wanna fuck your wife or else.”  
“Ah.” Pendergast said eloquently, as the Archdruidess lurched past him, disappearing into a nearby room. There was the clanking of metal, and then an uncertain roar. Pendergast and Bean moved into the pews towards the back room, then the roar grew louder and the Archdruidess emerged. She rode the bike shakily down the aisle, unfortunately hitting the broken canter along the way. Her vessel stopped, and she was thrown off of it.

“Are you okay?” Bean asked, running towards her.  
The Archdruidess threw a helmet in her general direction, then staggered away.  
“So… that could have gone better.” Pendergast noted, before glancing at his wife. “Uh… how are the nuns you were interred with for a bit?”  
“They don’t like me.”  
“Understood. I’ll have Blodeuwedd write to… I don’t know, people, about a replacement castle chaplain.” Pendergast ran a hand through his hair. “This is… not going well. Do you have any ideas who we should talk to next?”

“Merkimer?” Bean tried.  
“Merkimer.” Pendergast agreed.  
Merkimer was next to Guysbert’s grave, much where Pendergast had left him the day before.

“Hello, Pendergast, Bean.” Merkimer said cordially. “Pendergast, I have decided that I need a shed.”  
“Here?” Pendergast asked.  
“Here would be nice, so I could watch over my dear departed brother’s grave.” Merkimer agreed.  
“We were kind of thinking you could go home.” Bean said. “With Guysbert. And… fuck, Pen, we didn’t bring it up with them. But with Alice and David if you want? And they want.”

“Why now?” Merkimer asked suspiciously. “What do _you_ want?”  
“For you to tell your parents not to send more assassins.” Pendergast drawled. “And maybe a recommendation of a court chaplain.”  
Merkimer scoffed. “And what would they be getting back? They left me here.”  
There was an awkward silence.

“What, did you think I hadn’t realized I wasn’t a prisoner?” Merkimer asked. “I could have gone back at any time. I don’t want to, they won’t have me.”

“But what about your mother?” Pendergast asked.  
Merkimer looked down at his sweater. “Mumsy… Mumsy is the real prisoner. If she was on the throne, I’d go back, but she’s not. And now she doesn’t even have Sir Corian to protect her.”  
“Isn’t that more reason for you to go back?” Bean leaned down to look him in the eye. “So you can take care of her?”  
“I’m a pig.” Merkimer pointed out.  
“You’re still her son.” Pendergast said gently. “And at least this way, she won’t worry about you.”

Merkimer scoffed. “The irony is, I’m safer here. And I think she knows that.”  
“So you’re never going home?” Bean asked.  
“…no. I will go back. Eventually.” Merkimer said slowly. “But not while I’m trapped in this form.”  
Pendergast sighed. “God, where’s Blodeuwedd to add, ‘break Merkimer’s curse’ to the list?”  
“List?”  
“Of things we need to do.” Bean replied, standing up again and joining Pendergast. “And uh, about that chaplain recommendation?”

“Hrrmph.” Merkimer looked at Guysbert’s grave, then back at Pendergast and Bean. “If I get my shed, yes. Write to Goshawk Monastery, they’ll send someone for you. That’s where my clerical tutor was from, hell of a man. Rich monk, not a poor one, you know?”  
“Joy.” Pendergast muttered. “And the last one just ran away drunk. I didn’t know it was going to be a trend.”  
“I heard that.” Merkimer huffed. “The woman was a loony anyway.”

“Okay, what about Guysbert’s body? Should we send him home, or do you want to wait?” Bean asked.  
“…with Alice and David?” Merkimer asked. “As official royal envoys?”  
“If it doesn’t get them killed by association with us, yes.” Pendergast said.  
“How would you transport the body?” Merkimer asked suspiciously.  
“Like a saint. But like, a whole saint.” Bean said. “Like with a wagon and a coffin and as little jostling as possible.”  
“That’s pretty good, I’m not going to lie.” Merkimer mused. “Alright, when Alice and David leave, they may take Guysbert with them. But I would like to know how near death my father looks. Maybe send some poison along, as a treat.”

“We’re not going to do that.” Pendergast said. “…if you’re staying here, do you want to be a chancellor? You’re good with people.”  
“Ha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” Merkimer snorted. “You do realize if you have a literal pig on your council—prince or not—Dreamland is going to be the laughingstock of the continent. Imagine being such a poor, yokel-infested backwater that an oinky boy advises the queen. God, they’ll already make jokes about you being a woman. You don’t need to give them a whole comedy set.”

“Then who would you suggest?” Bean asked, crossing her arms.  
“Honestly? The slutty elf princess.” Merkimer said.  
“Did you have sex with her?” Pendergast demanded.  
“Of course not. She said no when I asked.” Merkimer snorted. “But think about it. First, you need some elfin faces in your council, especially that Elmo’s fucked off God knows where.”

“Elfo.” Bean corrected.

“That’s what I said. Anyway, the elf princess also has the royal and political background necessary for this kind of work, and she’s good with people. _And_ , I can’t really think of a good joke about an elf being on the council, being as they’re so rare. And if I can’t think of it, you can bet me another loaf of bread and tiny pot of jam that no one else will.”  
“You could just ask.” Pendergast pointed out.

“I’m still waiting on my shed.”  
“I just _found out_ about the shed.”  
“And yet, you’re not running to fix it.” Merkimer said. “Checkmate.”  
“You’re only supposed to say that to kings. I’m a prince consort.” Pendergast said with the air of someone who had won an argument.

Merkimer slowly looked at Bean. “This is the man you want to be with?”  
“Yeah.” Bean said, crossing her arms.  
“Meant it as a joke, don’t hurt me.” Merkimer said quickly. Then he sniffed the air. “Congratulations, by the way.”  
“What do you mean by that?” Bean demanded.  
“On your pregnancy.” Merkimer said. “I mean, I smelled it before, but it didn’t seem appropriate to bring up then.”

“How do you know she’s…” Pendergast gestured a large belly. Bean punched him in the shoulder, albeit gently.  
“Yeah, how do you know I’m pregnant?” Bean added.  
“Well, I can smell it.” Merkimer said. “At least, I’m pretty sure I’ve narrowed that down to human-or-mostly-human-woman-is-pregnant. You could have food poisoning.”  
“I _have_ been feeling nauseous.” Pendergast offered.

Merkimer sighed, deeply. “You smell _fine_ , if a little… sweet. Floral. Your brother and sister have it too, but not your cousin.” He got up and circled Bean, and then sat down next to Guysbert again. “Oh, there’s a smell I didn’t want to have to parse out. Anyway, you’re definitely pregnant, which is good, because that means that the seed _currently_ in you won’t… impregnate you.”  
“What if I get double pregnant?” Bean demanded.  
“…That… can’t happen.” Merkimer said slowly. “On all accounts, your… I don’t fucking know what to call it, an intestinal parasite? You have tinges of Pendergast’s sweet blood smell that aren’t coming from your underclothes. Your parasite is healthy, hale, and most definitely not a bastard.”

“Are you implying my wife is unfaithful?” Pendergast growled.  
“No. I’m implying that she is, without a doubt, faithful.” Merkimer replied. “Anyway, I’d like the shed to have a little bed in it, and a window please. Not facing east. I’m not a martyr.”  
“That’s a better house than Bunty has.” Bean pointed out.  
“Then you’d better get on the infrastructure problem, hadn’t you?” Merkimer said in a bored tone.

  
Summarily dismissed, Pendergast and Bean found themselves approaching the only magical people they knew (besides Sorcerio. And Malfus.) Really, they found themselves approaching the Old Witch Retirement Haven, where Gwen and her sister resided, in a new gingerbread home.

“Hi, it’s us!” Bean said, with jazz hands, when Gwen opened the door.  
“So it is.” Gwen leaned on the doorframe. “What do you want?”  
“Well, can we come in?” Pendergast asked. “…please?”  
Gwen opened the door wider. “Come to ask me more questions about my idiot husband?”

Gwen’s sister called from another room. “Who’s that, then?”  
“The princess and her knight!” Gwen called back.  
There was the sound of the oven opening, and then the smell of cookies became even more pungent. “I’ll be out in a minute, Don’t eat the house!”  
“You can sit on the couch.” Gwen offered.

Bean and Pendergast sat, and soon enough, the sister bustled out with a plate of cookies and a sheet of gingerbread.  
“Roof repair.” The sister offered, before squinting at Pendergast. “You’re a strong young man. Could you climb up there and help us? We’re elderly and infirm.”  
“Hey! I’m young and strong too.” Bean pointed out.  
“You’re also pregnant.” Gwen added casually.

“For fuck’s sake, how does _everybody_ know that?!” Bean demanded, swiping a cookie from the plate that the sister offered.  
“Hang on, are these cursed again?” Pendergast interrupted.  
“Only with a mild sneezing compulsion.” The sister soothed. “Perfectly safe for the pregnant.”  
Bean ate her cookie defiantly. “So how did you know? And you better not say you smelled it.”

“Your internal magic field is changed.” Gwen said, squinting at her. “Not… _too_ much, the baby will definitely take after you more, but the option is still there. Easy for humans to miss, obvious to us.”  
“Are you not human?” Pendergast asked, taking a cookie.  
“We’re as human as you are.” The sister said, smiling in a way that was meant to be comforting. Pendergast did not eat the cookie.

“Can you teach me magic?” Bean asked.  
“Hrmm. You’re not… like us.” Gwen said, waving her hand vaguely.  
“What my sister means is, you do have witch blood, but your base magic is something else. Something… stronger than us. Older.”  
“Ominous.” Bean said, taking another cookie.  
“Was that all you wanted to know?” Gwen asked.

“Do you want a job?” Bean asked. “As my court wizard?”  
Gwen stared at her for a minute, before cackling. (Pendergast privately wondered whether that was her real laugh. God knows he’d heard enough of it for a lifetime already. He nibbled at the cookie.) “No.” Gwen finally said.  
“Why not?” Bean asked.  
“Because I don’t want to do anything for the kingdom that threw me in the dungeon.” Gwen spat.

“What would the benefits be, anyway?” Gwen’s sister asked.  
“You could move to the castle and have nice rooms—both of you!” Bean said. “And space and resources to do research. And uh… maybe a stipend? I don’t know, Pendergast, did Sorcerio have a stipend?”  
Pendergast shrugged. He was already on his second cookie, and could feel his nose beginning to tickle.  
“And-and food. And protection.” Bean said. “You’ll never have to worry about people again, as long as I’m alive.”

“And what happens when you’re dead?” Gwen challenged.  
“The only way I can make sure it’s okay is if I have… an heir.” Bean took a deep breath. “And… I trust Pen to be a good dad, even if I don’t trust myself. So, I think it’ll be okay.”  
Gwen watched her for a moment, before taking a cookie. “You know, I half-thought you were going to ask me for an abortion.”  
“You can do that?”  
“No. But I know how you could.” Gwen said.

Bean considered it for a moment, crumbling the cookie in her hands. “…no. I want… I want a kid. I already decided. It’s just… surprising. I don’t know if I’m going to fuck up or not, but… hey, this isn’t about me! Do you want the job or not?”  
“I already said no.” Gwen said.  
“Gwen’s sister, same question.” Bean said.

“What is your name?” Pendergast asked, to defuse the tension.  
“Gwenhwyfach.” Gwen’s sister said.  
“Ah.” Pendergast said awkwardly.  
“…why do you two have the same name?” Bean asked.  
“We don’t. My name is Gwenhwyfar.” Gwen said.

“…okay?” Bean said, looking at Pendergast.  
“Gwenhwy the Lesser, Gwenhwy the Greater.” He muttered to her, pointing to the sister and Gwen respectively.  
“We’re twins.” Gwen said bluntly. “Our father named us by the power he thought we’d have. Ironically, we’re about equal.”  
“So… what do we call you?” Pendergast asked the sister.

“Oh, usually I go by Cammy.” She replied.  
“…why?” Bean asked.  
“Because we technically come from Camelide.” Gwen said. “And her name is insulting.”  
“Okay, well, Cammy, do _you_ want to be the Court Wizard? Witch?” Bean asked.  
“Sure.” Cammy said.  
“Great. Can you be there by the coronation? It’s in about a week. The sooner the better, really.” Pendergast said.

Bean nodded. “What he said.”  
“I’d be delighted.” Cammy said, her face crinkling with a kind, grandmotherly smile. Bean melted. (Pendergast did not. His own grandmother did not smile like that without reason.)  
“Only…” Cammy said.  
“Yeah?” Bean asked.  
“I don’t want to leave without the roof being fixed…” Cammy said sadly.

“We can fix it!” Bean said quickly, needing that hit of Grandmotherly Approval.  
“Well… I wouldn’t want to bother you…” Cammy said. Gwen hid a smile behind her hand.  
“Though I suppose your husband could do it quickly, and _well_.” Cammy continued, giving Pendergast a level look that would have inspired Rhoswen.

He tried to look impassive, but he could feel a sneeze coming on. Turns out, the cookies had a cumulative effect.  
He buried his mouth in his elbow, then nodded at her. He, too, needed that Grandmotherly Approval.  
“You’re too powerful.” Gwen said as he lugged the sheet of gingerbread out of the house.  
“I don’t know what you mean, my dear sister.” Cammy said innocently. “The spells chain-linked, is all.”  
Gwen’s snort was the last thing that Pendergast heard before leaving the house. There was a ladder nearby, thankfully made of wood, and Gwen stuck a bag of icing out the window for him on his way up.

“Do _not_ eat the house.” Gwen ordered him. “Or skimp on icing so you can eat it. I’m serious. There’s chalk in there.”  
Pendergast considered this a small price to pay for sugar, but did as he was told, sneezing all the way. (There was a bit of icing left anyway. He did try to eat it. And then he finished it off, despite the very obvious chalk.)

When he eventually got back down, still sneezing and icing smeared around his mouth, Bean and the witches were fast friends.  
“Hey.” He said, shooting finger guns at his wife.  
“You ate the icing, didn’t you?” Gwen deadpanned.

Pendergast turned his finger guns on her as a reply.  
“Uh… what’s wrong with him?” Bean asked. “Is it drugs? Can I have some?”  
“No, and no.” Cammy said. “He’s… that icing was pure refined sugar, mixed with chalk to give it a more cement like quality, and water, for versatility. I don’t think any Sidhe has had a hit like that in a century.’  
“I’m not a Sidhe!” Pendergast protested. “I’m a he!”  
“His pupils are all the way dilated.” Bean said, peering at him. “You must have given him some good stuff.”

“Again, cut with chalk. Used as a building implement.” Gwen said. “Also, he’s an idiot.”  
Pendergast turned around too quickly to confront her, and ran into the wall.  
“We could give him an emetic?” Cammy suggested.  
“Uh, he doesn’t need his period.” Bean snorted.  
“Not an _emmenagogue_ , an _emetic_. To make him throw it up.” Gwen sighed.  
“Noooo…” Pendergast said from the floor. He had tried to walk into the wall and had crumpled. He was now lying down, spread-eagled, his feet stuck out the sisters’ doorway. “Don’ take away my _sugar_ …”

“If it was just sugar, why’s he like that?” Bean asked.  
“He’s a Sidhe.” Cammy said.  
“No…” Pendergast repeated. “’M not…”  
“One of the Fae folk.” Gwen clarified. “Oh, it’s definitely been diluted by human, presumably an ‘ancestor’ of his was switched out with a changeling, but it’s there.”  
“Pen says he’s not Sidhe, and he can’t lie.” Bean pointed out. “I _think_ he would know.”

Gwen and Cammy shared a look, then looked at Bean.  
“He can’t lie?” Gwen repeated.  
“That is a Fae trait, dear.” Cammy said gently.  
“And does he have an aversion to iron?” Gwen asked, crossing her arms.

“Stings.” Pendergast offered from the floor. “Like nettles.”  
“What’s going to happen to him?” Bean crossed her arms.  
“Eh, he’ll be fine.” Gwen said. “He just needs to sleep it off.”  
“And the chalk?”  
“He’ll shit white for a while, but you two come from Dreamland. Presumably, you’ve both eaten worse.” Gwen shrugged.

“Do you need help getting him up on his horse dear?” Cammy asked.  
Pendergast opened his mouth and let out a constant sound. “Aaaaaaaaaaah.” It wasn’t a scream, his tone was completely even. It was as though he had been told to open his mouth at a doctor’s appointment.  
“Impressive lung capacity.” Cammy finally said after a minute.  
“I don’t have much experience being the sober person minding the drugged up one.” Bean admitted. “Uh… what should I do?”

Pendergast stopped making noise, then there was a shuffling sound. He popped up behind the sofa, almost directly behind Bean. “Rydych chi'n arogli fel butterscotch.”  
“Gadewch lonydd i'ch gwraig.” Gwen ordered.  
Pendergast gasped at her. “Bean, they’re onto us.”  
“Maybe it would be best if you went upstairs for a nap.” Cammy offered kindly. “You may as well, your majesty.”

“Thank you, that’s really kind.” Bean said, taking her husband’s hand and gently guiding him up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Corner  
>  _Rydych chi'n arogli fel butterscotch._ = You smell like butterscotch.  
>  _Gadewch lonydd i'ch gwraig._ = Leave your wife alone.
> 
> According to cyntax-error (go read her fics, they're good!) pregnant women have a tendency to be a bit clingier to their partners. (Bunty would know this. That's how Bunty found out.) 
> 
> Meanwhile, I can hear you saying, "Lauren, Blodeuwedd and company didn't bring up the pregnancy" that's because for once, the Griffiths are the most polite people available. Birdy knows, she already worked it out from Bean being like, 'wow, these suspiciously pregnancy-like symptoms are really getting me down' a couple chapters ago, and figured that was Bean's way of telling her.

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I have another fic currently running, but I also know I don't really care. 
> 
> That being said, you should check out the other fics in the Beadergast tag. Tying into the last sentance, Cyntax_Error has two concurrent fics running now as well. Go check her out if you haven't already! (And taffee23, and PunkFairyLights!)


End file.
